U.V  <•>«-' 


GILBERT'S  LAST  SUMMER  AT 


AJOJ 


WHAT    IT  TAUGHT 


BY 

GLANCE    GATLORD, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  BOY'S  AT  DR.  MURRAY'S," 
"GILBERT   STARR,"  AC. 


BOSTON: 

&    YOTJISTG-, 
1867. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1867,  by 

GRAVES  &  YOUNG, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


RAINFORD    SERIES. 


YOL.   I. — GILBERT  STARE  AXD  ms  LESSORS. 
"     n. — GILBERT'S  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 
OTHER  VOLUMES  rs 


tivnttntt. 


CHAPTEK  I. 
Ox  THE  ICE,  ........  0 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  LITTLE  BOY'S  COURAGE, 28 

CHAPTER  HI. 
PLOTTING, 43 

CHAPTER  IV. 
GILBERT'S  DISMAY, 61 

CHAPTER  V. 
AN  UNKNOWN  FRIEND, 78 

CHAPTER  VI. 
GATES'S  DISMAY, 95 

CHAPTER  VH. 

VERY  PLEASANT  DJfc, 115 

CHAPTER  VIH. 
FEAR  COMETH  AS  DESOLATION,     ....       131 

CHAPTER  IX. 
GILBERT'S  OFFER, 150 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  SHADOW  OF.  DEATH, 158 

CHAPTER  XI. 
GRIEVING  FOE  Two, 185 

CHAPTER  XII. 
"GRAY!" 203 

CHAPTER  XIH. 

WHAT  §OLLOWED  A  TUMBLE,       ....       221 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
GILBERT'S  AWAKEXIXG,  ,  237 

CHAPTER  XY. 
"  THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN,"  .  .  .  .  255 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS, 275 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

DID  THE  SUMMER  TEACH  ANYTHING  ?  .  .  292 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
FAREWELLS,  314 


fammfl[  at 


CHAPTER  I. 

ON     THE     ICE. 

TT  was  a  clear,  crisp,  sparkling  night ;  the 
•*•  sky  fairly  white  with  stars,  and  the  glit- 
tering crescent  of  a  new  moon  dipping  be- 
hind the  roofs  on  Riverside  hill.  •  Winter  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  though  you  would  not 
have  suspected  it,  had  you  seen  how  hard 
the  river  was  frozen,  — from  the  foot  of  Mr. 
Winterhalter's  lawn,  quite  across  to  the 
wharves  and  boat-houses  on  the  other  side, 
and  felt  the  keen  air,  and  heard  the  ring  — 
of  the  skaters'  steel,  and  their  shouts  and 


10  THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

echoing  laughter.  Now,  although  it  was  ac- 
tually the  first  of  March,  and  time  for  sun- 
nier skies  and  balmier  "winds,  there  was  not 
a  boy  in  Mr.  Winterhalter's  school,  or  Pro- 
fessor Roth's,  as  for  that  matter,  who  did  not 
rejoice  at  the  sudden  cold  snap  which  this 
first  spring  month  brought. 

There  had  been  a  great  dearth  of  skating 
all  winter, —  "  not  enough  to  keep  our  skates 
bright,"  Tom  Fowler  said,  —  and  now  that  it 
had  actually  come,  real,  genuine  skating, 
there  was  great  excitement  and  much  joy 
about  the  matter.  So,  on  this  clear,  calm, 
brilliant  night,  Mr.  Wintei  halter's  boys  and 
the  Professor's  were  all  on  the  river,  and  a 
merry  time  of  it  they  were  having.  There 
were  the  under  and  upper  classes,  and  boys 
of  all  sizes,  from  Forrest,  the  head-boy  of 
the  Professor's  school,  down  to  little  Ned 
Rogers,  the  smallest  boy  in  Mr.  Winterhal- 
ter's  establishment,  and  who  was  generally 


ON  THE  ICE.  11 

under  everybody's  feet,  and  being  knocked 
down  and  picked  up  continually. 

Now,  if  you  havejiot  a  poor  memory,  you 
will  remember  that  Gilbert  Starr  had  been 
deprived  of  the  captaincy  of  the  Boat  Club, 
and  had  been  "  cut "  by  all  his  friends  and 
comrades,  save  Ray  Hunter  and  Perry  Kent, 
for  doing  what  he  thought  to  be  his  duty. 
You  will  remember,  too,  that  though  his  old 
comrades  and  friends,  who  had  been  under  his 
command,  discovered  he  was  not  a  sham  like 
some  of  themselves,  but  honest  and  manly 
and  true,  yet  they  were  too  proud  and  stub- 
born to  acknowledge  this,  and  passed  Gilbert 
by  in  all  their  plans,  and  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him.  The  winter  had  worn  thus 
far  away,  and,  so  far  as  Gilbert  and  his  men 
were  concerned,  matters  had  not  mended  a 
bit.  They  never  spoke  to  him,  nor  took  the 
slightest  heed  of  his  going  or  coming;  and 
though  they  did  secretly  admire  and  respect 


12  THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

him  very  much',  they  allowed  nothing  of  this 
to  be  seen,  and  followed  the  instructions  of 
their  new  captain,  Philip  Gates,  very  obedi- 
ently, considering  what  an  overbearing  fel- 
low Gates  was.  Captain  Philip  was  very 
bitter  toward  Gilbert  for  many  reasons.  In 
the  first  place,  Gilbert  was  still  head-boy,  and 
kept  to  his  books  so  faithfully  that  Gates, 
who  cared  little  for  study,  could  not  displace 
him  and  take  the  position  himself.  In  the 
second  place,  he  knew  that  Gilbert  stood  a 
long  way  above  him,  so  far  as  manliness  and 
courage  and  honesty  were  concerned,  and  he 
knew  that  his  own  men  knew  it ;  and  when 
a  person  is  conscious  of  this  superiority  in 
one  whom  he  has  wronged,  the  knowledge 
is  apt  to  make  him  very  bitter  and  jeal- 
ous and  vengeful.  At  least  this  was  the 
case  with  Gates,  and  it  caused  him  to  be- 
•  have  toward  Gilbert  in  a  manner  very  shame- 
ful for  a  boy  who  made  any-  pretence  to 


ON  THE  ICE.  13 

honor  or  honesty.  He  -slandered  his  rival, 
he  told  many  falsehood^  abouf  him  to  his  class, 
in  order  to  keep  them  as  much  estranged 
from  Gilbert  as  possible,  and  he  was  not  at 
all  above  annoying  the  ex-captain  with  mean 
and  petty  tricks.  Ray  Hunter,  Gilbert's 
faithful  friend,  had  partly  rebelled  from 
Gates's  authority,  and  no  one  was  quite  sure 
whether  he  belonged  to  the  Boat  Club  or  not. 
And  thus  matters  stood  on  this  starry  winter 
night,  when  they  were  ah1  gathered  on  the 
river. 

It  was  a  most  perfect  night  for  skating, — 
very  keen  and  biting,  it  was  true,  but  with- 
out a  breath  of  wind.  In  the  middle  of  the 
river  they  had  a  great  bonfire,  that  sent 
broad  pathways  of  light  far  up  and  down  the 
ice ;  and  besides  the  school-boys,  there  were 
plenty  of  the  Rainford  town-people  out  to 
see  and  e^ijoy  the  sport. 

Colored  lanterns  gleamed  and  flickered  all 


14  THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT  RAINFORD. 

along  the  river-side,^ind  shot  and  zig-zagged 
across  the  ice,  suspended  from  some  skater's 
arm,  and  what  with  their  gay  gleaming,  and 
the  merry,  boisterous  groups  of  skaters,  and 
the  roaring  and  crackling  of  the  fire  that 
floated  red  sparks  up  into  the  night,  the 
scene  was  as  bright  and  vivid  as  heart  could 
wish.  Now  Captain  Philip  Gates  was  ex- 
ceedingly self-satisfied  and  light  of  heart  this 
evening,  being  a  very  good  skater,  and  hav- 
ing already  beaten  several  of  his  men  in 
racing.  He  was  very  anxious  to  have  a  race 
between  his  men  and  Captain  Forrest's,  of 
the  Professor's  school.  He  flew  about  from 
one  place  to  another,  getting  his  men  to- 
gether, and  talking  with  Forrest's  about  the 
matter.  Of  course  they  were  ready  enough 
for  the  trial  of  speed,  and  soon  both  of  the 
clubs  were  around  the  fire,  clamoring  and 
discussing  the  point  of  departure.  But  Cap- 
Forrest  was  absent,  and  as  his  men 


VX  THE  ICE.  15 

thought  they  could  do  nothing  without  him, 
Gates  started  off  ia  search  of  him,  after  wait- 
ing impatiently  some  minutes  for  his  arrival. 
After  searching  long  and  diligently  among 
the  crowd  within  light  of  the  fire,  Captain 
Gates  decided  that  Forrest  was  not  there, 
and  began  to  cruise  about  along  the  river- 
side, where  there  were  many  solitary  figures 
as  well  as  gay  skating  parties.  After  pur- 
suing several  fleeting  figures,  to  find  that 
tbey  were  quite  other  persons  than  Forrest, 
he  gave  up  the  search  on  Mr.  Winterhalter's 
side  of  the  river,  and  crossed  over  tg  River- 
side. Here  the  river  lay  quite  dark  in  the 
shadow  of  the  great  hill,  and  the  skaters  were 
few  and  far  "between  ;  only  now  and  then  he 
stumbled  upon  some  unfortunate  individual, 
who  was  making  a  first  attempt  at  skating, 
and  preferred  to  hide  his  falls  and  clumsiness 
in  the  darkness,  and  speeding  on,  till  he  was 
half  in  despair  of  finding  the  object  of  his 


16     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

search,  he  came  at  last  to  where  he  caught 
the  echo  of  two  pairs  of  skates  a  long  way 
before  him,  neither  of^them  moving  very 
faSt,  but  smoothly  and  glibly,  as  if  their 
owners'  found  it  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  to  do.  "  One  of  those  pairs  of  feet 
belong  to  Forrest,"  thought  Gates,  increasing 
his  speed,  "  but  whose  can  the  other  be  ? " 
The  skaters  changed  their  course  a  little 
after  that,  and  turned  toward  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river,  and  as  they  moved  only 
leisurely,  Gates  'was  soon  near  them.  On 

they  mgyed,  across  the  wide  path  of  light 

• 

which  the  bonfire  cast  up  the  river,  and  then 
Gates  discovered,  with  a  thrill  of  chagrin 
and  disappointment,  that  Forrest's  compan- 
ion was  Gilbert  Starr.  " Pshaw!"  he  ex- 
claimed angrily,  "  what  are  he  and  Forrest 
together  for,  and  at  the  very  moment  when 
I  don't  want  Starr  around?"  He  slackened 
Ms  pace,  considering  how  he  should  call  For- 


OX   THE   ICE.  17 

rest  away ;  and  then,  fearful  that  he  should 
lose  sight  of  them  altogether  among  the 
merry  crowd  which  was  setting  that  way, 
lie  came  up  behind  them  as  noiselessly  as 
possible,  just  in  time  to  hear  Forrest  say, 
as  he  put  his  hand  on  Gilbert's  shoulder, 
"  We  were  talking  about  the  fight,  you 
know  ;  or  rather  about  how  we  tried  to  fight, 
and  Perry  Kent  brought  Mr.  Winterhalter 
down  upon  us.  I've  laughed  about  that  af- 
fair a  hundred  times  since  !  I  don't  know 
but  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could  have 
happened,  for  it  made  us  friends^you  see, 
and  that's  a  great  deal,  /think." 

"  I  was  very  hot  and  quick,  that  time," 
said  Gilbert,  as  they  glided  along,  "  and  I 
really  didn't  treat  Mr.  Prescott  civilly.  But 
I  apologized  ;  I  asked  "his  forgiveness  !  " 

"  Trust  you  for  that !  "  said  Forrest ;  "  but  I 
was  thinking  what  a  droll  affair  the  whole  of 
it  was ;  and  looking  back  I  think,  well.  I  think 


18  THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT    RAIXFOED. 

I  admire  3^011  more  and  more  every  day  for 
the  stand  you  took  against  what  you  thought 
was  wrong.  I  only  wish  /  could  hare  done 
it  !  Though/'  added  Forrest,  "  I  don't  tbinfc 
I  ever  could  give  up  my  captainship,  espe- 
cially if  I  knew  such  a  fellow  as  that  Gates 
was  to  take  my  place." 

Captain  Philip  fell  back  a  little  at  hearing 
this,  biting  his  lips  very  hard,  yet  keeping 
near  enough  to  hear  Gilbert  answer,  '( Well, 
I  did  find  it  hard,  very  hard ;  but  I  came 
through  it;  and  as  for  Gates,  —  well,  I've 
nothing  t<^say  about  Gates,  anyway." 

"  Nothing  to  say  about  me,  eh  ! "  said  Cap- 
tain Philip  to  himself,  as  he  stealthily  fol- 
lowed. "  Oh,  you  confounded  Gilbert  Starr ! 
Oh !  you  hateful  scamp !  I  wish  the  ice 
would  open  and  let  you  in,  confound  you  !  •' 
But  the  ice  did  not  open,  and  the  two  figures 
before  him  glided  smoothly  on,  and  Gates 
followed  them  in  their  windings  among  the 


ON  THE  ICE.  19 

crowd,  prevented,  now,  however,  from  hear- 
ing what  they  were  talking  about ;  and  pret- 
ty quick  one  of  Forrest's  men  spied  his  cap- 
tain, as  the  two  drew  near  the  fire. 

"  Here,  Captain  ! "  he  cried  out,  "  we  want 
you  !  Gates  is  looking  everywhere  for  you, 
and  we  want  to  race.  Where  have  you 
been?" 

"Taking  a  turn  or  two  on  our  side  of  the 
river,"  said  Forrest;  "and  if  you  want  to 
race,  go  ahead.  I  don't  object,  I'm  sure." 

"  But  we  want  you  to  head  us,"  said  his 
men,  gathering  about  him.  "  Gates  is  going 
to  lead  his  men,  and  we  want  you  to  lead 
us." 

Just  then  Captain  Gates  came  sailing  up 
to  the  group,  saying,  very  innocently, 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,  Forrest !  I've  been 
looking  everywhere  for  you.  AVhat  do  you 
say  to  the  race  ?  " 

"  I  don't  object,"  said  Forrest,  rather  cold- 
ly, leaning  one  arm  upon  Gilbert's  shoulder. 


20     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

"  Then  let's  get  at  it,  right  off,"  said  Gates, 
briskly,  while  he  looked  at  his  watch  ;  "it's 
half-past  eight,  already,  and  we'll  have  to  go 
in  at  nine,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  nine  to  a  minute,  Winterhalter  said," 
said  Tom  Fowler. 

Forrest's  men  began  to  clamor  around  him, 
threatening  that  they  would  not  race  unless 
he  headed  them. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  at  last ;  "  I'll  go,  just 
to  please  you.  Scatter  !  " 

Then  he  turned  to  Gilbert.  "  It's  a  shame," 
he  said,  indignantly;  ".you're  shut  out  of  ev- 
ery thing.  I've  a  good  mind  to  stay  with 
you,  and  not  go  a  step  1 " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Gilbert ;  "  I  don't  mind,  — 
that  is,  not  much.  I'm  getting  used  to  it, 
you  see." 

Forrest  shook  his  head.  "  A  fellow  can't 
do  that, — not  entirely,"  he  said ;  "  but  you're 
made  of  different  stuff  than  I,  somehow. 
You  don't  mind  what  would  kill  me.  But 


OX   THE   ICE.  21 

they're  calling,  and  I  must  go.  Good-night, 
Starr,  if  I  don't  see  you  again/'  he  called 
back  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  glided  off  to  his 
men. 

Gilbert  stood  by  the  fire,  and  watched 
them  all  go  scurrying  down  the  river  into 
the  darkness,  thinking  that  Forrest  was  a 
very  good-hearted  fellow  indeed,  and  feeling 
very  glad  of  his  friendship.  "  And,"  he 
thought  to  himself,  "  it  was  only  such  a  very 
little  while  ago  that  we  were  under  the  Rain- 
ford  bridge  fighting  for  the  honor  of  our 
schools  !  What  days  those  were  ! " 

They  seemed  a  long  way  off,  somehow, 
after  all ;  so  much  had  happened  between 
those  days  and  these.  "  All  this  long  winter," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  my  men  have  hated  me 
and  shunned  me,  and  oh !  I  wonder  if  all 

this  is  never  going  to  end  ?    Mrs.  Winterhal- 

* 
ter  says,  '  Yes  ! '  but  the  end  is  a  dreadfully 

long  time  coming.     I'm  to  leave  school  next 


22  THE   LAST   SUMMER  AT   EAIXFORD. 

fall,  and  though  I  don't  care  so  much  about 
the  captaincy,  I  wouldn't  like  to  leave  with 
the  fellows  all  hating  me.  I'd  like  to  be 
friends  with  'em,  anyhow." 

Some  one  came  gliding  around  the  fire, 
and  thrust  his  hands  into  Gilbert's.  It  AV.H 
his  protege,  Perry  Kent.  "  Well,"  said  Gil- 
bert, his  face  brightening  at  the  sight  of  the 
boy,  "  have  you  skated  enough  for  one 
night  ?  " 

"  Not  half,"  said  Perry ;  "  and  I  wish 
you'd  come  down  the  river  a  bit  with  me. 
It's  as  smooth  as  glass  down  there,  and  Ray 
and  all  the  rest  are  down  there  racing." 

"  What's  that  to  me  ?  "  said  Gilbert,  a  little  ' 
bitterly,  "  since  there's  not  one  of  'em 
that  cares  where  I  am.  But,  pshaw ! "  he 
quickly  added,  "  I  believe  I'm  getting  blue 
and  gloomy.  I'll  go  !  Come,  Perry  !  "  and 
taking  the  boy's  hands,  he  sped  aw:ry  back- 
ward, drawing  his  protege  swiftly  after  him. 


«v    THE   ICE.  23 

They  went  like  the  wind.  The  fire  shrank 
away  behind  them  into  the  distance,  till  it 
looked  like  a  round  fiery  eye.  Gilbert 
whirled  away  towards  the  Riverside  shore, 
where  the  ice  was  silent  and  deserted.  Some- 
times, above  the  ringing  of  their  own  steel, 
they  caught  the  echo  of  the  boys'  shouts  far 
below.  Releasing  Perry,  he  spun  round  and 
round  in  dizzy  circles,  still  bearing  down- 
ward all«|he  time,  and  suddenly,  before  there 
was  a  breath  in  which  to  think  of  danger, 
Gilbert  went  through  with  a  great  crash, 
and  the  little  boy  was  standing  there  — 
alone. 

Terror  and  dismay  froze  the  cry  for  help 
that  was  on  his  lips.  He  looked  up  at  the 
great  red  eye  gleaming  down  the  river-way, 
with  a  vague  consciousness  that  there  lay 
help  ami  succor.  But  still  he  did  not  cry 
out,  nor  stir  from  the  spot  where  he  had 
stopped.  There  came  to  his  ears  a 


24  THE  LAST  SUMMER   ff   RAINFOED. 

sound  of  crashing  and  crackling  of  brittle 
fragments  from  the  darkness,  a  little  way  to 
his  right,  and  the  sound  brought  suddenly 
back  his  senses,  and  a  warm  thrill  ran  through 
every  vein  of  his  body,  and  before  another 
minute  had  elapsed,  he  was  at  the  edge  of 
the  great  yawning  hole  in  the  ice,  crying, 
"Gilbert!  Gilbert!" 

"  Yes,"  said  Gilbert  from  out  the  darkness, 
and  Perry  could  hear  him  clutlfe  at  the 
edges  of  the  ice,  and  hear  the  fearful  sound 
of  the  brittle  fragments  crumbling  and  giv- 
ing away. 

"  Oh,  Gilbert ! "  cried  the  boy,  "  what  snail 
I  do?" 

It  seemed  a  fearful  length  of  time  before 
Gilbert  answered,  though  in  reality  it  was 
only  a  few  seconds,  and  then  he  only  said, 
"  I  don't  know.  It's  a  long  way  to  —  to 
help!" 

Perry,  looked  up  to  where  the  fire  shone, 


ON   THE   ICE.  25 

and  realized  this  with  a  shiver  of  anguish. 
If  he  went  so  far  for  help,  he  was  terribly 
afraid  that  Gilbert  would  not  be  there  when 
he  returned.  He  did  not  ask  Gilbert's  ad- 
vice again,  but  groped  his  way  around  the 
yawning  hole  to  the  point  which  he  fancied 
was  nearest  him.  And  before  Gilbert  sus- 
pected Perry's  intention,  he  suddenly  felt  the 
boy's  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  clasping  him 
with  all  the  strength  of  which  they  were  ca- 
pable. 

"  Til  never  let  go  !  I'll  never  let  go  !  " 
Perry  cried  with  a  trembling  voice ;  "  but 
0,  Gilbert,  tell  me  what  to  do  ! " 

In  spite  of  his  peril,  and  the  awful  cold 
that  was  numbing  him,  Gilbert's  old  fore- 
thought and  regard  did  not  desert  him. 

"  Xo,  Perry  ! "  he  said  bravely,  drawing 
himself  back  as  much  as  he  dared,  "  let  go  of 
me  !  let  go  of  me,  I  tell  you  !  You'll  only 
get  yourself  in." 


26  THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

Perry  did  let  go,  but  it  was  only  to  get  a 
fresh  hold,  and  to  twist  his  stout  woollen  tip- 
pet under  Gilbert's  arms.  Then  Gilbert  felt 
him  pulling  back  with  all  his  strength,  though 
the  ice  cracked  and  trembled  warningly. 

"  Stop  ! "  Gilbert  commanded ;  "  stop  ! " 

But  Perry  took  not  the  least  heed  of  his 
injunctions,  and  fairly  kept  his  friend  afloat, 
while  he  shouted  lustily.  But  who  would 
mind  a  shout,  when  shouts  and  cries  were 
echoing  from  all  directions  ?  The  little  boy's 
heart  began  to  sink.  It  seemed  as  if  his 
friend  was  sinking  deeper  and  deeper. 

"  0,  Gilbert !  "  said  he,  tremulously,  "just 
speak  to  me." 

Gilbert  managed  to  chatter,  "K-keep  up 
g-g-good  courage,"  but  there  was  something 
in  his  tone  that  made  Perry's  heart  sink  yet 
lower,  for  it  seemed  just  as  if  Gilbert  had 
lost  his  courage.  Then  Gilbert  spoke  once 
more,  brave  and  kind  to  the  last. 


OX  THE  ICE.  27 

• 
"  Perry,"  he  said,    "  you  —  you're  slipping 

n-n-nearer  and  nearer.     Let  go  of  me  !  " 

"  No  !  no  !'"  said  Perry,  frantically,  "  never, 
Gilbert ! " 

The  boy  laid  his  ear  to  the  ice,  listened 

• 
breathlessly,  and  waited.     Such  long,  fearful 

seconds  !  with  Gilbert  in  the  very  grasp  of 
Death  !  —  oh,  so  long  !  so  long  !  But  then  it 
came  —  the  sound  for  which  he  was  listening 
—  and  in  a  second  more  he  was  sure  of  it, 
for  their  lanterns  began  to  flare  and  flicker 
along  the  ice-path,  and  their  shouts  rang  up 
the  river,  and  the  racers  were  returning. 
Something  choked  so  in  Perry's  throat,  that 
he  could  not  speak  for  a  moment,  then  he 
cried, 

"  Hold  on  !  holdfcn  a  little  longer,  Gilbert ! 
Help  is  coming  —  it's  right  here  —  and  it's 
Ray,  and  Forrest  and  all  of  them !  Hold  on 
to  me,  Gilbert !  —  hold  on  !  " 

Up  the  river  swept  the  skaters,  joyously 
and  boisterously. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  LITTLE  BOY'S   COURAGE. 

T)UT  now  a  new  fear  took  possession  of 
•*-'  Perry's  heart.  He  began  to  irernble  lest 
the  flying  racers  should  pass  by  without 
heeding  or  noticing  Gilbert's  peril.  They 
were  coming  at  such  speed,  that  he  knew  they 
would  flash  by  in  a  twinkling,  and  if  once 
they  passed,  all  hope  was  gone.  So  he  be- 
gan to  cry  for  help  at  the  top  of  his  voice, — 
shouting  and  screaming,  jyid  bidding  Gilbert 
keep  up  good  courage  between  his  cries,  — 
and  up  caine  the  racers,  their  lanterns  flaring 
great  rays  of  light  up  and  down  and  across 
the  river,  and  one  of  them  fell  upon  Gilbert's 
28 


A  LITTLE   BOY'S   COURAGE.  29 

white  face.  There  was  a  look  upon  it  that 
made  Perry  redouble  his  cries,  and  exclaim, 

"  0,  Gilbert !  just  one  minute  more  !  only 
a  minute  ! " 

But  in  less  than  that  time  the  skaters 
were  abreast  of  them  —  they  were  almost 
past  —  when  suddenly  one  who  bore  a  light 
swerved  out  from  the  line,  and  giving  a  cry 
darted  toward  the  spot  where  Perry  was 
waiting  in  such  trembling  anxiety.  Two  or 
three  of  the  skatersTollowed  to  see  -^hat  was 
the  matter,  and  the  remainder  swept  on  up 
the  river,  like  the  wind. 

It  was  Ray  Hunter  who  heard  Perry's  cry 
from  out  the  darkness,  and  it  was  Captain 
Forrest  and  one  of  his  men  who  followed. 
The  lantern-light  showed  -them  what  had 
happened  before  they  could  reach  the  edge 
of  the  air-hole  into  which  Gilbert  had  fallen, 
and  giving  a  great  cry,  Ray  pressed  forward 
with  such  headlong  speed,  that  he  came  near 
going  in,  too. 


30  THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   EAIXFORD. 

"0,  Gilbert!"  he  exclaimed,  "catch  hold( 
of  me  —  quick  !     I  can  keep  you  up  !     Catch 
hold  of  me  —  quick  !  quick  !  " 

But  Gilbert  was  too  thoroughly  benumbed 
for  that,  which  Ray  perceived  and  caught  his 
friend  by  the  shoulder,  while  Forrest,  with  a 
very  white  face,  got  down  beside  him,  and 
the  two  tried  to  pull  Gilbert  out.  But  the 
ice  cracked  and  crumbled,  and  both  came 
near  pitching  in  headlong.  Then  Forrest 
darted  al^ay,  saying,  "  Hold  him  for  a  min- 
ute, Hunter,  till  I  item  get  a  rail,"  and  with 
that  he  vanished  in  the  darkness. 

Ray  bent  over  Gilbert,  clutching  him  firm- 
ly, and  whispering,  "  0,  Gilbert !  — don't  give 
up  !  don't  think  of  it !  I've  got  you,  and  you 
can't  go  under.  0 !  how  did  you  get  in  this 
fix,  old  fellow,  and  how  long  have  you  been 
here  ?  " 

But  Gilbert's  teeth  chattered  so,  that  he 
did  not  attempt  to  answer,  and  Ray's  heart 
seemed  almost  to  stop  its  beating,  Forrest 


A  LITTLE  BOT'3   COURAGE.  31 

was  gone  so  long!  But  he  came  in  a  few- 
seconds  after,  dragging  his  burden  behind 
him,  and  Ray  said,  "  God  bless  you,  Forrest, 
but  hurry  !  hurry  !  " 

There  was  no  need  of  telling  Forrest  that. 
He  pushed  the  rail  across  the  gap,  letting  its 
ends  rest  on  the  firm  and  solid  ice.  Then  he 
got  astride  of  it,  his  feet  thrust  down  into 
the  water  beside  Gilbert's,  and  putting  his 
arms  under  Gilbert's  own,  drew  him  up  as  far 
as  his  strength  would  allow,  and  here  Ray 
and  Forrest's  man  got  hold,  and  all  together 
they  drew  Gilbert  out  on  to  the  unyielding 
ice. 

"  There  ! "  said  Forrest :  "  and  now  lean 
upon  me,  Starr,  for  you're  too  cold  to '  stand 
alone.  Don't  mind,  for  I  can  bear  you  up  ;  " 
and  to  prove  it,  he  fairly  lifted  Gilbert  off 
the  ice.  Ray  was  down  upon  his  knees,  and 
had  his  friend's  skates  off  in  a  twinklu^. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  we  must  start  for  home 


32  THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT    RAIXFORD. 

in  an  instant !  Can  you  ever  stand  it  to  get 
there,  old  fellow?  Forrest,  you  shall  take 
one  shoulder,  and  I  the  other, —  and,  are  you 
ready  ?  " 

Just  then  Gates  and  the  rest  came  whirl- 
ing back  down  the  river,  to  see  what  had 
taken  Forrest  and  Ray,  and  this  arrival  hin- 
dered them  a  little,  there  were  so  many  ques- 
tions to  be  answered.  Now  there  was  not 
one  of  Gilbert's  old  men  but  what  longed  to 
have  a  reconciliation  then  and  there.  Their 
old  captain  had  but  just  escaped  a  cold,  cruel 
death ;  and  there  is  something  in  the  near 
approach  of  death  and  danger  which  is  almost 
always  sure  to  soften  the  stubbornest  heart, 
and  make  it  long  for  peace  and  reconciliation 
with  its  fellow  man.  There  were  none  of 
Gilbert's  men,  but  in  whose  hearts  there  was 
a  desire  to  take  their  old  captain's  hand,  tell 
him  the^r  were  glad  that  he  was  safe,  and 
help  him  up  to  the  house.  But  Gates  fell 


A   LITTLE   BOY'S    COURAGE.  33 

back  as  soon  as  lie  had  made  out  all  about 
the  a  flair,  and  called  liis  men  to  conie  away. 
They  lingered,  wavered,  but  finally  obeyed. 

"  Oh,"  said  Forrest,  his  voice  full  of  scorn 
and  indignation,  "Pin  glad  that  I  haven't 
such  a  set  of  fellows  under  me.!  I'd  choose 
to  run  away  from  them  if  I  had.  Here, 
Fred  and  Wayne  and  Frank,''  he  called  to 
his  men,  "  come  and  give  us  a  hand,  for 
the  captain  is  fairly  faint  with  cold.  Come, 
all  of  you,  and  put  those  fellows  to  shame  ! " 

They  came,  Forrest's  whole  command, 
and  taking  Gilbert  carried  him  quickly 
toward  home.  They  did  not  "follow  the 
river  up,  but  struck  across  the  snowy 
meadows  in  a  direct  line  for  Mr.  Winter- 
halter's,  and  there  were  so  many  of  them 
to  help,  that  Gilbert  was  no  burden  at  all. 
But,  if  you  are  a  boy  and  have  at  all  the 
same  sensibilities  that  Gilbert  had,  you  will 
know  what  a  hard  thing  for  him  it  was  to 


34  THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

be  carried  home  by  his  old  rival's  men, 
while  those  who  were  rightly  his  own  hung 
back,  and  did  not  seem  to  care  that  even 
his  life  had  been  saved.  He  said  not  a  word 
till  he  found  himself  in  the  warm  hall 
leading  to  the  schoolroom,  with  Forrest  and 
all  his  men  about  him,  and  Mrs.  Winter- 
halter  looking  at  him  with  a  very  frightened 
face. 

"  Why,  Gilbert,  what  have  you  been 
about  ? "  said  she ;  "  wet  to  the  skin,  and 
your  clothes  half-frozen  to  you  !  " 

"  I  've  been  in  the  river,"  he  chattered, 
"  and  I  should  have  drowned  but  for  Perry 
Kent." 

"  Perry  Kent !  "  said  Forrest ;  "  where  is 
he?" 

Then  there  was  a  great  search  for  Perry, 
who  was  at  last  found  in  the  shadow  of  the 
doorway  and  brought  forward  to  receive  the 
praise  and  thanks  which  Ray  and  Forrest 


A  LITTLE   BOY'S   COURAGE.  35 

and  Mrs.  TVinterhalter  and  everybody  were 
ready  to  shower  upon  him.  Forrest  called 
him  a  little  hero,  which  was  great  praiso 
in  the  eyes  of  the  rest  of  the  boys,  who 
looked  upon  Forrest  always  with  envy  and 
admiration,  and  Ray  said,  taking  Perry's 
hand  before  them  all,  —  "I  thought  you 
hadn't  much  courage,  but  I  take  all  that 
back.  There's  more  to  you  than  I  thought, 
and  you  can't  know  how  much  I  thank  you. 
Thanks!  —  why,  thanks  are  just  nothing  to 
what  I  want  to  say  !  "  and  so  he  left  every- 
thing else  that  he  thought  unsaid,  and  went 
up  stairs  with  Gilbert. 

Mrs.  Winterhaltor  pressed  a  great  many 
thanks  upon  Forrest,  and  said,  among  other 
things,  "  I'm  very  glad  indeed,  that  there's 
such  good  feeling  between  you  and  our 
head-boy.  It's  not  much  like  the  feeling 
that  was  between  you  two  last  summer,  my 
dear?" 


36     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

Forrest  colored  a  little,  bnt  answered 
promptly,  "  No  ma'ain !  but  Gilbert  and  I 
are  good  friends  now;  I  don't  believe  we 
could  be  better,  and  I  admire  liim  very 
mucli :  and  I"  do  wish  he  could  be  captain 

again  instead  of  that ,  excuse  me*,  Mrs. 

Winterhalter,  but  I  don't  like  Gates  !  " 

Mrs.  Winterhalter  smiled  a  little,  but  did 
not  say  whether  that  was  her  opinion,  or  no  ; 
only,  "  I  tell  Gilbert  that  that  will  all  come 
right  by-and-by,  and  I  think  he  thinks  so,  too. 
Do  you  know,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand 
lightly  on  Forrest's  shoulder,  "  that  I  think  it 
often  does  a  boy  a  great  deal  of  good  to  go 
through  such  a  trial  as  Gilbert  is  going 
through." 

"  It  is  very  disagreeable,  and  very  bother- 
some," said  Forrest,  "  and  I  think  I  should 
break  down  under  it,  Mrs.  Winterhalter." 

"  No,  no,"  said  she,  brightly,  "  I  hope  not. 
But  I  think,  and  perhaps  you've  noticed  it, 


A  LITTLE  BOY'S   COURAGE.  37 

that  Gilbert-  is  much  firmer  and  stronger 
for  the  right  than  he  used  to  be,  —  without 
losing  the  brightness  and  gayety  that  are  so 
natural  to  him,  too,  which  is  a  great  deal. 
And  if  he  can  only  persevere  to  the  end  I 
have  great  hopes  for  him." 

"  He  will !  —  you  may  he  sure  of  that !  " 
said  Forrest,  quickly ;  "  I  never  saw  such  a 
fellow  to  persevere,  no  matter  what  any  one 
thinks  or  says  of  him.  But  if  you'll  let  me, 
I'd  like  to  just  run  up  and  say  good-night, 
for  I  must  go  back  right  away.  The  Pro- 
fessor'll  scold  me  finely  now,  I  expect." 

Mrs.  Winterhalter  gave  him  permission, 
adding, —  "The  Professor  will  not  be  very 
angry  when  he  sees  those  drenched  boots 
and  knows  what  you  have  been  about." 

The  nine  o'clock  bell  tinkled  just  as  For- 
rest ran  up  stairs.  "  Whew  ! "  he  said  to 
himself,  "  here  it's  nine  o'clock  and  I  ought 
to  be  in  my  own  bed  across  the  river.  But 


38  THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

it's  not  every  night  that  a  fellow  comes  near 
being  drowned,  as  Starr  has,  and  I  guess 
tho  Professor'll  excuse  me.  At  any  rate,  I'll 
see  him  a  minute." 

He  had  been  in  the  Boat  Club's  room  once 
before,  and  so  knew  the  way,  and  presently 
Ray  was  startled  a  little  by  seeing  him  enter. 

"  You,  Forrest?  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  why,  I 
.  thought  you'd  gone  long  ago." 

"  So  do  mytnen,  I  suppose,  but  that  good 
Mrs.  Winterhalter  had  a  word  to  say  to  me, 
and  I  wanted  to  see  Starr  comfortable,  and 
here  I  am!  How  are  you,  old  fellow?"  he 
asked,  sitting  down  on  the  bed  by  Gilbert. 

Gilbert  still  shivered  and  chattered  in 
spite  of  the  load  of  blankets  that  was  on 
him,  but  was ,  very  grateful  for  Forrest's 
attention,  and  told  him  so. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  the  Professor's  head-boy, 
"  it's  nothing.  You'd  have  done  the  same 
for  me  if  I  had  chanced  to  need  it,  and  a 
great  deal  more,  I  dare  say.  I  know  you." 


A   LITTLE   BOY'S   COUKAGE.  39 

"  It  was  such  a  narrow  escape  ! "  said 
Ray,  shuddering ;  "  if  Gilbert  had  been  alono 
we  never  should  have  found  him." 

"  We  were  not  any  to  soon  as  it  was,"  said 
Forrest ;  "  however,  a  miss  is  as  good  as  a 
mile,  they  say  —  though  I'd  rather  have  the 
mile  —  and  I  hope  we'U  see  you  out  on  the 
river  in  a* night  or  two,  Starr." 

Gilbert  did  not  make  much  of  a  reply,  and 
just  then  Gates  and  his  men  came  clattering 
up  stairs  to  bed,  and  Forrest  got  up  hastily, 
saying,  "  There  come  all  the  fellows,  and  I'll 
be  going.  I  hate  that  Gates,  by  the  way. 
And  —  good-night,  Gilbert,"  coming  back  to 
shake  the  ex-captain's  hand ;  and  then  he 
bent  over  and  whispered,  so  that  Ray  might 
not  hear,  "  Do  you  know  —  I'd  like  to  do  as 
you  have'  done,  as  you  are  doing,  my  dear 
fellow  !  Will  you  help  me  ?  "  and  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  or  to  see  how  Gilbert 
received  it,  he  hurried  away,  meeting  all 


40  THE   LAST-  SUMMER   AT   R^TXFORD. 

the  Boat  Club  at  the  door.  Their  faces 
showed  how  surprised  they  were  at  seeing 
him  there,  and  at  that  time  of  night,  but 
Forrest  paid  them  very  little  attention  and 
passed  on  his  homeward  way.  The  boys 
went  to  bed,  stealing  many  glances  at  the. 
bed  where  Gilbert  lay,  and  longing,  every 
one  of  them,  in  their  secret  hearts,  to  go  and 
shake  his  hand  and  ask  him  how*he  did, — of 
course  excepting  Gates. 

Then  the  room  began  to  grow  still  and 
quiet,  as  the  remainder  of  the  house  had 
long  been.  Only  Ray  was  up,  waiting  to 
see  whether  Gilbert  was  going  to  get  warm 
or  not.  And  presently  he  said,  after  he  was 
sure  the  boys  were  all  asleep,  "Isn't  he  a 
nice  fellow  ?  —  Forrest,  1  mean." 

"Yes,"  said  Gilbert  in  a  very  grateful 
tone,  "  he's  very  good  indeed  to  me,  and  I 
like  him  very  much." 

"  And  think  of  Perry  Kent !     Why,   you 


A   LITTLE    BOY'S   COURAGE.  41 

know  I  always  thought  him  weak  and  baby- 
ish, for  all  you  said  that  there  was  the  real 
grit  in  him.  Now  he's  proved  himself,  and 
I'm  glad  of  it  for  his  own  sake  as  well  as 
yours.  I  think  he'll  rise  a  long  way  in  the 
boys'  opinion." 

"  Yes,"  s*aid  Gilbert,  "  and  I  never  shall 
forget  how  his  face  looked  for  those  few 
minutes  before  you  came  in  sight.  The  fire 
way  up  the  river  shone  on  it  a  little,  just 
enough  for  me  to  see.  Well,"  he  added, 
drawing  a  long  breath  of  content,  "  it's  a 
great  deal  to  have  such  friends  as  I  have 
got,  and,  Ray,  what's  the  captainship  after 
all  ?  I  really  don't  envy  the  present  captain 
the  least  bit,  though  Forrest  always  seem  to 
think  that  I'm  suffering  and  miserable  about 
it.  I'll  go  on  —  and  wait ;  and  if  the  right 
time  ever  comes,  —  well,  there'll  be  time 
enough  to  think  about  it  then.  And  don't 
keep  your  eyes  open  any  longer  for  me,  Ray, 


42     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

but  come  to  bed,  for  I'm  getting  warm  as  a 
toast." 

Ray  complied,  and  then  the  last  lamp 
in  the  house  was  out,  silence  and  peace 
settled  down,  and  the  long  evening  was 
ended 


CHAPTER  III. 

PLOTTING. 
4 

pILBERT  STARR  soon  recovered  from 
^-*  the  effects  of  his  plunge  in  the  river, 
though  not  in  time  to  enjoy  the  skating,  for 
in  a  day  or  two  the  weather  changed  and 
began  to  hint  in  earnest  of  spring.  There 
came  days  of  warm  rain  and  mist,  and  the 
river  began  to  peer  through  the  ice  in  long 
slender  strips  of  dark  water,  and  at  last  the 
icy  floor  which  had  given  the  boys  so  much 
delight,  broke  up,  and  went  heaving  and 
tearing  down  to  the  sea. 

And  now  that  skating  was  really  ended, 
and  there  was  no  prospect  of  more  winter 
sports,  Mr.  Winterhalter's  boys  began  to 

43 


44  THE   LAST   SUMMER*  AT   RAIXFOED. 

think  in  earnest  about  examination,  which 
was  only  a  little  way  off.  Some  of  the  more 
studious  had  been  preparing  for^t  a  great 
while,  but  the  great  mass  of  boys  had  been 
looking  forward  to  the  inevitable  event  with 
a  certain  dread  and  dislike,  and  now  that  the 

time  was  drawing  near,  took  their  books  and 

• 

settled  down  to  hard  study  with  many  sighs 
and  lamentations  over  the  hardships  of  a 
schoolboy's  life. 

Of  course  they  all  expected  that  Gilbert 
Starr  would  keep  the  head-boy's  place,  and 
no  one  had  any  intention  of  trying  for  that 
position.  Gilbert  had  filled  it  from  the  very 
first  day  that  he  became  a  member  of  the 
first  class,  and  had  held  the  place  so  long 
that  no  one  thought  of  trying  to  oust  him 
from  it.  In  fact  no  one  —  even  among  his 
enemies,  with  the  exception  of  Gates  — 
wished  for  a  change ;  and  Gate's  wished  for 
no  change,  unless  he  could  slip  into  the 
position  himself. 


PLOTTING.  45 

• 

Now,  as  the  days  wore  toward  examina- 
tion, Captain  PhiJip  began  to  think  very 
deeply  about  the  matter.  It  vexed  him  to 
think  that,  though  Gilbert  had  lost  the  cap- 
taincy, he  still  outranked  himself  in  virtue 
of  being  head-boy  of  the  school ;  and  though 
this  high  position  did  not  give  Gilbert  much 
honor  or  pleasure,  because  all  the  boys  had 
been  turned  against  him,  yet  Gates  longed 
for  the  place,  and  was  vexed  and  irritated 
because  there  was  no  present  prospect  of 
getting  it.  "  "Why,"  he  thought  to  himself, 
sitting  by  the  window  in  the  Boat  Club's 

room  one  misty  morning,  "  if  I  were  head- 

> 
boy  and  captain  both,  I  should  pretty  much 

rule  the  school.  Why,  when  I  first  came 
here,  Gilbert  Starr  was  looked  up  to  as  if  he 
were  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood,  and  nobody 
thought  of  doing  anything  he  objected  to. 
But  I  spoiled  that  for  him,"  Gates  thought 
with  a  little  malicious  laugh,  "and  I  don't 


46     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

• 

think  he'll  ever  got  back  to  where  he  was 
before,  not  while  I'm  in  the  school,  at  any 
rate.  But  if  he  weren't  head-boy  —  if  I 
could  only  get  the  place  —  then  he  would  be 
down  entirely,  and  I  sho*uld  be  at  the  top.  I 
wish  I  knew  how  to  do  it !  " 

It  was  not  an  easy  place  to  win,  because  it 
was  only  to  be  gained  by  hard  study,  and 
Gates  was  not  particularly  fond  of  such 
labor.  And  even  if  he  was,  there  were  Ray 
Hunter,  Albert  Turner  and  Barry  White, 
who  ranked  above  himself,  and  who  would 
all  have  to  be  overcome.  It  seemed  quite 

an  impossibility,  the  whole  of  it,  but   Gates 

i 
was  loth  to  give  up  all  hope,  and  sat  long 

by  the  window  trying  to  devise  some  plan 
by  which  he  might  obtain  the  position  of 
head-boy. 

Pretty  soon  Albert  Turner  came  in,  and 
he  was  just  the  person  whom  Gates  wished 
to  see.  "  Sit  down,"  said  he,  "  for  I  want 


PLOTTING.  47 

to  talk  about  the  examination.  Now  who'll 
come  out  first  in  the  struggle  ?  " 

"  Gilbert  Starr,  of  course,"  said  Turner ; 
"  I  thought  you  knew  that." 

"  Well,  but  is  there  no  way  by  which  some 
one  else  can  get  his  position  ?  " 

ll  0  yes,  said  Albert  Turner,  a  little  spite- 
fully, "  very  easily.  All  one  has  got  to  do 
to  get  it  is  to  study  every  night  till  twelve 
o'clock,  review  all  that  we've  been  over  for 
the  past  year,  besides  getting  the  lessons 
that  are  given  out  every  day  ;  then  one  will 
probably  stand  just  about  where  Gilbert 
Starr  stands,  that  is,  if  they  are  as  smart ; 
and  all  that's  then  necessary  to  secure  the 
place  is  to  know  enough  more  than  he  does 
to  come  out  best  in  the  examination.  I 
think  it's  very,  very  easy  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Captain  Philip,  angrily, 
"  I'm  in  earnest  about  it,  and  I  don't  want 
to  hear  your  nonsense." 


48  THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   BAIXFORD. 

"  Nonsense  or  not,"  said  Albert,  "  it's  the 
truth." 

"  But  Starr  doesn't  study  like  that,"  said 
Gates,  "  for  he's  always  in  bed  when  the 
rest  of  us  are,  and  —  " 

"  Well,  of  course  he  is,"  said  Turner  ;  "  I 
was  only  telling  you  what  one  would  have 
to  do  to  catch  up  with  him." 

"  And  I  don't  believe  he  ever  reviews," 
said  the  sceptical  captain. 

"  There's  where  you  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about,"  said  Albert;  "  Starr  has 
got  all  the  hard  points  and  all  the  difficult 
solutions  noted  down  —  he  did  it  as  fast  as 
he  went  along  —  and  now  all  he  has  to  do  is 
to  refer  to  his  papers,  instead  of  rummaging 
all  his  books  over  as  the  rest  of  us  do. 
That's  half  the  battle  for  him.  I  wish  I'd 
done  the  same,  but  it's  too  late  wishing, 
now." 

Ga^es's  face  grew  very  bright.     "  How  do 


PLOTTING.  49 

you  know  this  is  so, —  about  Starr's  pa- 
pers?" he  asked. 

"  Because  that  used  to  be  his  way  of 
doing  when  I  was  secretary  of  the  club 
under  him,  and  I  had  a  chance  to  know  5  and 
I've  heard  Ray  Hunter  say  the  same  thing 
within  a  week.  But  Starr  does  his  work 
more  thoroughly  than  he  used  to  when  he 
was  Captain,  because  he  has  more  time,  I 
suppose." 

A  silence  fell  upon  them,  in  which  Turner 
picked  up  a  book  and  began  to  study.  At 
last  Gates  said,  "  I'd  like  to  be  head-boy  very 
much." 

"  How  strange ! "  said  Turner,  without 
looking  off  his  book. 

"But  I  don't  see  much  hope  of  getting 
the  place,"  continued  Gates,  "  unless  —  " 

"Unless  what?"  interrupted  Turner,  smil- 
ing at  the  idea  that  there  was  any  probabili- 
ty of  Captain  Philip's  success. 


50  THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT    RAIXFORD. 

"  Unless,"  said  Gates  slowly,  and  without 
looking  at  his  companion,  "  I  could  get  those 
papers  of  Gilbert  Starr's." 

Albert  Turner's  face  grew  very  red  quite 
suddenly,  and  as  there  was  no  apparent 
cause  for  any  such  change  of  countenance, 
you  may  as  well  know  that  Gates  had  un- 
consciously hit  upon  a  plan  which  had  been 
secretly  harbored  in  Albert's  own  heart. 

"  I  declare  !  "  said  Captain  Philip-,  looking 
keenly  into  his  companion's  face,  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  had  thought  of  the  same 
thing  yourself." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Turner,  with  a  great  show 
of  indignation  ;  ''  you've  no  right  -to  talk  to 
me  like  that !  Do  you  know  that  if  you 
were  found  out  in  such  a  thing  you'd  be  dis- 
graced  and  sent  out  of  school  ?  " 

"Of  course, —  so  do  you.  But  I  should 
look  out  for  that  matter.  I'd  go  to  work 
right,  in  the  first  place.  I'd  make  friends  of 


PLOTTING.  51 

• 

all  the  Boat  Club  about  the  matter,  and  trust 
to  their  honor.  Then  Gilbert  Starr  might 
whistle  for  his  papers,  for  who  could  prove 
anything?" 

"  How   do    you   know    you   could    make 
friends  of  us  all  ?  "  said  Turner,  coldly. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Gates,  getting  up  and  sit- 
ting down  close  to  his  companion,  "  don't 
try  to  humbug  me.  I  know  well  enough 
that  you'd  all  like  to  see  Gilbert  Starr 
brought  down." 

"  He's  been  brought  down,"  said  Turner, 
trying  to  keep  up  an  innocent  appearance ; 
"  why  should  I  want  him  brought  any 
lower  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  Captain  Philip,  "  you're 
only  wasting  breath.  Do  you  suppose  7 
don't  know  you  ?  and  the  rest  of  the  fellows, 
too  ?  What  did  you  pull  Starr  down  for,  if 
it  was  not  because  you  hated  him  ?  Tell  me 
that !  And  .why  have  you  all  cut  him  ? 


52     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

• 

And  —  but  pshaw !  it's  only  a  waste  of 
breath  to  talk  about  it.  You'd  all  like  to  see 
Starr  lose  his  position,  and  you  can  have  the 
chance  if  you  like.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Now  Albert  Turner  was  not  accustomed 
to  this  bold  manner  of  talking  about  wicked 
and  dishonorable  plans,  and  he  hardly  knew 
what  to  say  at  first.  But  he  was  not  an 
honorable  boy,  as  you  well  remember  from 
some  events  of  the  preceding  summer,  and 
as  you  will  quickly  perceive  from  the  fact 
that  he  was  not  averse  to  listening  to  Gates's 
plan,  and  had  even  thought  of  it  before  the 
captain  himself;  and  so  he  dallied  with  the 
temptation,  pretending  to  hate  it,  yet  encour- 
aging the  plan  little  by  little,  bringing  all 
sorts  of  objections  and  scruples  against  it, 
while  he  was  secretly  intending  to  give  aid 
to  it,  and  at  last,  when  Captain  Philip  had 
lost  his  patience  and  declared  —  "You're  a 
confounded  old  hypocrite,  Turner!"  —  he 


PLOTTING.  53 

came  out  plumply,  and  said,  "  Yes,  I  agree  to. 
the  plan." 

"Of  course  you  do,'7  grumbled*  Gates, 
"  and  you  might  have  said  so  without  going 
such  a  long  way  round.  I  wonder  if  you 
think  it's  any  better  to  sneak  around  for  half 
an  hour  with  your  scruples,  when  you're 
all  the  time  intending  to  give  them  up  ?  " 

Did  you  ever  think  which  is  worse  :  a  boy 
who  goes  to  work  to  do  evil,  making  no 
pretence  to  goodness  or  honesty,  or  one  who 
goes  to  work  to  compass  the  same  evil  end, 
and  covers  his  intentions  with  a  fair  outside 
and  a  great  pretence  to  virtue,  while  all  the 
time  the  wickedness  is  working  under  the 
mask? 

"  Well,"  said  Gates,  after  Albert  Turner's 
decision  had  been  made,  "  who  shall  do  the 
difficult  part  of  the  plan?  —  taking  the 
papers,  I  mean." 

"  You,  of  course,"  said  Turner,  getting  up 
to  go  away. 


54:  THE   LAST   SUMMER    AT    EAINFORD. 

But  Gates  pulled  him  back.  "  Wait,"  said 
he,  "  for  I  haven't  got  half  through  with  }Tou. 
If  I  nave  to  do  that  part  of  the  job,  of 
course  I'm  to  have  the  position  to  pay  for 
it." 

"  Oh,  ho  ! "  said  Albert,  indignantly ;  "  I'm 
to  do  all  this  to  boost  you  into  Gilbert's 
place,  eh  ?  and  I  may  take  a  place  under  you 
after  that,  eh  ?  Gates,  did  you  ever  hear  of 
the  monkey  that  used  a  cat's  paws  to  get  his 
chestnuts  off  the  stove,  and  so  kept  his  own 
from  being  burned  ?  " 

"I  dare  say  I  have,"  said  Gates;  "and 
what  of  it?" 

"  I'm  not  your  cat,  you  see,  —  that's  all." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Captain  Philip,  as  if  he 
were  not  at  all  displeased,  "  you.  may  take 
the  papers,  and  I'll  stand  down ;  that's  fair, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

Albert  did  not  immediately  reply.  He 
had  ^  hardly  sufficient  courage  to  spy  where 
Gilbert  kept  the  coveted  papers,  and  commit 


PLOTTING.  55 

a  deliberate  theft  in  taking  them.  He  was 
not  as  hardened  as  Gates,  and  the  thought 
of  being  the  actual  thief  in  the'  plot  made 
him  shiver  and  tremble.  He  was  suddenly' 
very  sorry  that  he  had  conspired  with  the 
captain.  He  looked  up.  "  Gates/'  said  he, 
suddenly,  and  speaking  sincerely  this  time  at 
least,  e<  what  a  hard  fellow  you  are  !  " 

Captain  Philip  opened  his  eyes  very  wide 
at  this,  saying,  "  What's  that  to  do  with  your 
decision  ?  " 

u  Nothing,  perhaps,"  Albert  replied  ;  "  but 
—  but  you*may  take  the  papers  and  have 
the  head-boy's  place  if  you  can  -get  it." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  polite,"  said  Gates,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  pray  don't  sacrifice  all  your  plans  on 
my  account !  "  But  his  companion  turned 
to  the  window  without  a  word,  and  looked 
out  at  the  gray  mist  that  lay  over  the  land 
and  hid  the  river. 

The    first    steps    in   a    boy's    downward 


56  THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT  RAIXFORD. 

course  are  very  easy  to  take,  and  he  may 
not  even  know  when  he  first  turns  his  feet 
into  the  evil  path.  It  had  been  so  with 
Albert  Turner.  First,  his  straying  from 
what  was  good  and  upright  was  so  slight 
that  he  thought  nothing  of  it,  and  it  did  not 
disturb  him.  He  had  gone  down  very  slow- 
ly and  gradually  —  erring  in  what  seemed  to 
him  very  little  matters  —  till  now  it  had 
come  to  this.  He  was  not  much  given  to 
reflection  nor  to  regretting  the  past,  but  now, 
as  he  stood  looking  out  upon  the  gloomy 
day,  some  very  vivid  remembr£hces  of  last 
summer's  happy  days  came  to  him.  What 
long  and  happy  days  they  were !  There 
was  no  Gates  present  with  plots  and  trou- 
bling secrets ;  no  discord  nor  enmity  in  the 
whole  first  class,  and  they  were  all  ver- 
happy  and  contented  with  Gilbert  for  cap- 
tain, and  Gilbert  to  look  up  to  and  depend 
upon  in  all  emergencies.  He  could  not  re- 


PLOTTING.  57 

member  one  day  during  the  long  winter  that 
had  held  so  much  genuine  joy  and  content  as 
an  hour  of  that  past  summer.  Now,  there 
were  wrangles,  and  everything  and  every- 
body were  very  disagreeable,  he  thought ; 
and  altogether  school  was  nothing  at  all  the 
pleasant  place  it  used  to  be. 

"  However,"  he  thought,  "  there's  no  use 
in  getting  blue  over  it.  I'm  in  the  fix  and 
can't  help  myself."  And  with  that  he  turned 
around,  saying,  "  Gates,  if  you're  to  have  the 
honor,  to  pay  for  your  thieving,  you'll  have 
to  break  the  plan  to  the  rest.  I'm  not  going 
to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  trust  me  for  that,"  said  Gates,  very 
pleasantly.  "  111  manage  that  nicely,  and 
just  you  see  what  a  fluttering  there  is  in  the 
nest,  some  of  these  mornings,,  when  Starr 
misses  his  papers  !  " 

Albert  Turner  went  down  stairs  very 
much  disgusted  with  the  captain,  the  plot, 


58  THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

» 

and  himself  in  particular.  But  do  you  think 
that  he  was  powerless  to  help  himself  out 
of  the  "  fix,"  as  he  styled  it  ?  to  tear  himself 
away  from  Gates  and  his  evil  ? 

Now  that  Captain  Philip  had  got  the  plan 
arranged  to  his  mind,  he  went  straightway 
at  work  to  carry  it  out.  He  was  cautious,  at 
first,  only  dropping  such  hints  now  and  then 
among  his  men  as  —  "I  say,  Bob,  wouldn't 
it  be  nice  for  me  to  beat  Gil  Starr  out  and  out 
at  the  examination  ?  "  or,  "  What  would  you 
say,  boys,  if  I  got  the  head-boy's  place  for 
next  term  ?  " 

Once,  Tom  Fowler  answered  this  last  ques- 
tion in  his  usual  blunt  way,  by  saying, 
"  What  would  we  say  ?  why,  we  should  most 
of  us  say  that  it  was  a  dreadful  misfortune 
for  the  school." 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  the  angry  captain,  "  I 
won't  bear  your  nonsense.  But  do  you 
know  I'm  in  earnest  about  it  ?  " 


PLOTTING.  59 

In  this  manner,  and  by  keeping  the  sub- 
ject continually  before  the  boys,  Gates 
brought  them,  to  understand,  without  having 
said  so  much  in  words,  that  they  need  not 
be  surprised  to  see  Gilbert  Starr  lose  his- 
rank  in  some  mysterious  manner  at  the 
coming  examination. 

"  If  there's  any  trick  about  it  —  and  you 
may  be  sure  there  is  if  Gates  has  anything 
to  do  with  it  —  I  say  it's  a  confounded 
shame  ! "  said  Tom  ;  "  however,  it's  none  of 
my  bread  and  butter.  We  all  cut  loose 
from  Gilbert  long  ago,  and  I  suppose  it 
won't  do  to  tattle." 

Boys  are  not  usually  very  vehement  for 
the  right ;  and  the  boys  of  the  Boat  Club 
were  like  all  others.  If  one  of  their  number 
had  had  the  courage  and  zeal  to  make  a 
stand  against  their  captain's  machinations, 
they  would  all  have  followed  this  one,  and 
Gates  and  his  evil  would  have  been  over- 


60  THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

thrown.  But  as  it  was,  no  one  stirred  about 
the  matter,  assuring  themselves  that  it  was 
no  affair  of  theirs,  and  Captain  Philip  met  no 
opposition  and  found  no  obstacle  in  his  way. 
So  it  came  about  that  one  night,  after  all 
the  rest  were  asleep,  the  plotting  captain 
removed  Gilbert's  precious  packet  from  the 
little  table  by  his  bedside,  and  took  it  to  a 
hiding  place  of  his  own.  And  only  Albert 
Turner  knew  where  it  was  concealed,  Gates 
being  quite  too  wise  to  entrust  the  secret  to 
more  than  one  beside  himself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

GILBERT'S  DISMAY. 

GATES  removed  Gilbert's  packet 
-*-  of  papers  on  Saturday  night.  As  the 
next  day  was  Sunday,  of  course  they  were 
not  missed ;  and  it  was  not  until  Monday 
morning,  about  an  hour  before  recitations, 
that  Gilbert  ran  up  to  his  room-  after  them. 
He  was  in  a  great  hurry,  having  been  de- 
tained past  his  usual  study-hour,  and  was 
was  much  astonished  —  not  to  say  vexed  — • 
to  find  his  packet  gone.  "  Where  could  I 
have  put  it  ?  "  he  said,  standing  by  the  little 
table  at  the  head  of  his  bed  and  gazing  won- 
deringly  at  the  place  where  he  was  sure  it 
had  lain  on  the  previous  Saturday  night. 

61 


62  TEE   LAST   SUMMER    AT    EAIXFORD. 

Then  he  searched  in  the  little  drawer  under- 
neath the  table,  but  there  was  nothing  there 
but' two  or  three  torn  leaves  of  school-books 
and  some  old  letters  of  Ray's.  "  Well,  this 
is  curious  !  "  he  thought  to  himself;  "  I  won- 
der if  I'm  getting  so  absent-minded  that  I 
don't  know  where  I  leave  my  papers  ?  " 

He  opened  his  trunk  and  searched  among 
the  clothing  there,  simply  because  he  could 
not  think  of  any  other  place  to  search,  and 
knowing  well  enough  that  it  was  not  there. 
He  closed  the  lid  with  a  very  puzzled  face. 
There  was  no  other  hiding-place  for  the 
packet  amongst  his  things,  and  consequently 
no  where  else  to  look.  Remembering  that 
it  was  already  past  time  for  him  to  be  at 
work  upon  his  lessons,  he  grew  more  and 
more  impatient.  Ray's  papers  and  his  own 
were  all  together,  and  suddenly  thinking  that 
there*  was  a  possibility  that  his  packet  might 
be  hidden  among  them,  Gilbert  hastily  got  up 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  63 

and  looked  them  all  over  one  by  one,  but  with 
no  better  success.  Then  he  discovered  that 
Gates  was  sitting  in  a  far  corner  of  the 
room,  very  busily  studying  his  lesson ;  but 
failed  to  see  that  whenever  his  own  face 
was  turned  in  another  direction  Gates's  was 
very  busily  studying  him. 

Gilbert  sat  down  and  thought  about  the 
matter  for  five  minutes.  But  the  mystery 
was  as  great  as  ever  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
and  gave  no  sign  of  ever  becoming  clearer. 
He  got  up  and  went  to  the  table  that  stood 
between  the  next  row  of  beds,  and  although 
it  did  not  belong  to  him,  took  the  liberty  to 
look  upon  it.  It  was  a  right  which  the  boys 
never  disputed,  and  Gilbert's  own  table  was 
very  often  searched  by  some  meml^f  of  the 
class.  But  Gates  left  his  corner  and  came 
down  to  where  Gilbert  stood,  very  savage 
and  very  important. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  for  once  deigning 


6i  THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RA1NFORD. 

to  speak  to  Gilbert,  "  what  right  have  you 
to  be  meddling  with  other  people's  tables  ?  " 

Gilbert  took  no  more  notice  of  him  than 
if  he  had  not  spoken,  and  this  inattention, 
you  must  know,  was  very  aggravating  to 
a  fellow  of  such  importance  as  Gates.  He 
grew  very  red  and  angry. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  laying  a  heavy 
hand  on  Gilbert's  arm,  "  that  I  am  captain 
of  the  Boat  Club,  and  won't  allow  my  men 
to  be  imposed  upon  by  such  as  you  ?  " 

Valiant  Captain  Philip  intended  that  this 
"  you "  should  be  very  scornful  and  very 
insulting.  Therefore  it  was  not  pleasant  for 
him  to  have  Gilbert  shake  his  hand  lightly 
off,  and,  while  a  faint  smile  curled  up  the 
corner  oLhis  mouth,  proceed  with  his  search 
as  if  he  were  entirely  unaware  that  Gates 
was  near.  Then,  finding  that  his  packet 
was  not  there,  Gilbert  went  back  to  his  own 
table.  But  Gates's  pride  was  too  thoroughly 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  65 

wounded  to  allow  him  to  give  up  the  matter 
thus,  and  so  he  followed  Gilbert,  and  thus 
did  a  very  unwise  thing. 

"  Oh,  you  may  please  to  be  silent  about 
it,"  said  he,  sneeringly,  "  but  that  won't  do. 
I  demand  to  know  what  you  were  overhaul 
ing  my  men's  tables  for  1     What  right  had 
you  there  ?  " 

Gilbert  took  up  a  book  and  said  nothing, 
though  his  hands  twitched  as  if  they  longed 
to  get  Gates  by  the  shoulders,  and  were  only 
held  back  by  a  very  strong  effort.  Very 
likely  Gates  did  not  know  Gilbert  as  the  rest 
did,  having  seen  less  of  him  during  his  short 
stay  in  the  school  than  almost  any  other  boy,. 
or  he  never  would  have  gone  to  the  length 
he  did.  Failing  to  make  any  impression  by 
demands  and  threats,  he  taunted  Gilbert 
with  being  a  hypocrite ;  adding  —  "If  I 
couldn't  do  better  than  you've  done  by  turn- 
ing traitor  to  my  company,  and  getting  made 


66     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFOED. 

over  into  such  a  milk-and-water  affair  as  you 
are,  I'd  sell  out  my  stock  in  trade  and  go 
into  the  milliner's  bus  —  " 

Suddenly,  without  having  the  remotest 
idea  how  it  happened,  Gates  found  himself 
a  very  awkward  position  indeed.  His 
feet  were  on  the  floor,  but  his  body  was  bent 
over  the  foot  of  one  of  the  beds  in  an 
exceedingly  uncomfortable  manner,  and  Gil- 
bert's gray  eyes  were  looking  down  upon 
him,  full  of  fire  and  disgust. 

"  You've  given  your  opinion  of  me,  free 
gratis,"  said  he,  holding  Gates  down,  while 

his   words   came    very   slowly,   he    was    so 

- 

angry,  "'and  now  you  shall  have  my  opinion 
of  yourself.  I  think  if  I  had  such  a  small, 
mean,  contemptible  nature  as  you've  got, 
I'd  —  I'd  —  really,  I  can't  think  of  any  occif- 
pation  that  would  be  small  enough  for  you. 
You  could 'nt  grasp  the  mysteries  of  the 
milliner's  trade,  and Oh,  but  I've  good 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  67 

mind  to  strike  you  ! ;'  said  Gilbert,  abruptly, 
remembering,  while  the  hot,  passionate  blood 
reddened"  his  face,  certain  insulting  epithets 
which  Gates  had  applied  to  him  in  times 
past.  Somebody  came  running  up  stairs, 
three  steps  at  a  bound,  and  came  along  the 
hall,  whistling  and  singing  by  turns,  and 
pushed  open  the  door. 

It  was  Eay  Hunter,  and  he  stopped  short 
in  the  doorway,  exclaiming,  after  a  second's 
pause,  "  Good  heavens !  Gilbert,  what  are 
you  about  ?  " 

"  I'm  considering  whether  I'd  better  give 
this  fellow  a  thrashing  or  not,"  said  Gilbert, 
hotly,  and  without  looking  around ;  "  what  do 
you  advise  ?  " 

Ray  made  no  reply  at  first.  He  would 
doubtless  have  rejoiced  to  see  Gates 
thrashed,  and  would  have  liked  to  lent  a 
hand,  as  for  that  matter ;  but  there  was 
something  else  to  be  thought  of. 


68     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

Did  you  ever  think  what  a  great  and 
important  thing  it  is  to  be  the  friend  of 
another?  to  be  loved,  trusted,  confided  in 
and  leaned  upon?  Ray  had  never  thought 
greatly  of  it  before,  but  now  it  flashed  upon 
him  like  a  new  revelation.  Here  was  Gil- 
bert, who  had  lost  his  temper  and  was 
unable  to  judge  as  he  ought ;  and  he  had 
asked  his  advice.  What  should  he  tell  him  ? 
Every  desire  and  inclination  of  his  heart 
bade  him  say,  "  Yes  !  thrash  Gates ! "  —  but 
this  new  sense  of  the  importance  of  the 
decision  made  him  remember  it  was  for 
Gilbert's  good,  and  not  for  his  own  gratifica- 
tion, that  he  was  to  advise.  For  once,  at 
least,  I  think  Ray  was  a  model  friend,  for 
putting  away  all  thoughts  of  his  own  gratifi- 
tion,  and  looking  only  for  Gilbert's  good,  he 
came  up  to  the  opponents,  and,  laying  his 
hand  on  Gilbert's  shoulder,  said  —  "  Gil,  old 
fellow,  I'd  like  you  to  thrash  him  very  much, 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  69 

but  you  sec,  I  don't  think  it  would  be  quite 
square  with  what  you  are  trying  to  do  for 
yourself — making  yourself  a  better  fellow, 
you  know  —  and  for  that  reason,  though  of 
course  it  makes  no  odds  with  me,  I  —  1  — 
well,  I  wouldn't  thrash  him,  Gilbert." 

Gates  was  freed  in  an  instant,  and  Gilbert 
turned  around  to  Ray,  grasping  both  his 
hands  and  saying,  vehemently,  "  0,  Ray 
Hunter,  what  a  friend  you  are  to  me  !  " 

"  There,"  said  this  friend  of  Gilbert's, 
pretending  not  to  be  affected  by  Gilbert's 
gratefulness,  "  don't  say  any  more  about 
such  a  little  matter.  I'll  be  in  the  same  fix, 
likely  enough,  some  time." 

Gilbert's  face  grew  very  sober  when  he 
turned  back  and  looked  at  Gates,  whose  face 
was  very  crimson  with  mortified  pride  and 
smothered  auger,  and  who  was  very  busily 
dusting  his  jacket;  and  looking  at  him,  Gil- 
bert had  a  struggle  with  himself.  Whatever 


70  THE  LAST   SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

the  feeling  was  against  which  he  was  con- 
tending, he  managed  to  conquer  it  at  last, 
and  went  up  to  his  enemy,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  Gates,"  said  he,  frankly,  "  I  was  very 
quick  just  now.  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  be 
very  good  friends,  but  I'd  like  to  shake 
hands  with  you  over  it." 

Captain  Philip  withdrew  his  hand  and 
frowned  heavily.  "  I'll  not  shake  hands  !  " 
he  muttered ;  "  this  is  not  to  be  the  end  of 
the  matter." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Gilbert,  pleasantly,  and 
still  extending  his  hand. 

"No;  keep  your  hand  to  yourself!"  said 
Gates,  "  for  I'm  not  going  to  touch  it." 

Then  Gilbert  withdrew  his  hand,  and  the 
captain  picked  his  book  from  off  the  floor 
where  it  had  fallen  in  the  encounter,  and 
went  out  without  another  word. 

"Now,"  said  Ray,  as  the  door  closed,  "how 


"  I  should  like  to  shake  hands  with  you  over  it. v         Page  70. 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  71 

on  earth  came  you  and  Gates  to  get  into  a 
squabble  ?  I  thought  he  wouldn't  speak  to 
you." 

This  question  brought  back  to  Gilbert  the 
remembrance  of  his  loss,  which,  in  his 
trouble  with  Gates,  he  had  entirely  forgotten. 
And  so  without  answering  Ray's  question, 
he  asked  one  himself. 

"Oh,''  said  he,  "but -have  you  seen  any 
thing  of  my  papers  ?  —  the  little  packet  that 
held  all  the  reviews  which  we  are  to  go 
over." 

"  Nb,"  said  Ray,  "  but  it's  on  our  table,  of 
course  ;  and  what  has  that  to  do  with  fight- 
ing Gates  ?  " 

"  But  it's  not  on  our  table,"  said  Gilbert, 
"  and  I'm  afraid  it's  gone  entirely." 
•  "  But  you  left  it  there  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Then  some  one  has  helped  himself  to  it," 
said  Ray ;  "  but,  if  you  please,  I'd  like  to 
trgw  how  you  got  into  trouble  with  Gates." 


72  THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

"  Oh,"  said  Gilbert,  "  I  was  hunting  for  my 
papers  and  took  the  liberty  to  look  on  that 
table  out  yonder, — Tom  Fowler's,  you  know, 
— and  Gates  came  .down  to  interfere.  But  I 
didn't  mind  him  at  all,  and  I  suppose  that 
made  him  mad,  for  he  followed  me  out  here 
to  my  own  table  and  got  very  insulting. 
And  then  I — got  mad.  I'm  very  sorry  for  it. 
Gates  isn't  worth  minding,  and  I  oughtn't 
to  have  minded  him.  I'm  glad  I  didn't 
thrash  him,  but  I  believe  I  should  have  done 
so  if  you  hadn't  put  the  right  thought  into 
my  head  just  at  that  moment.  Do  you  re- 
member that  proverb  in  Bob  Upham's  old 
book  —  'A  faithful  friend  is  a  strong  de- 
fence ? '  —  Well,  I  believe  it's  true  of  my 
friend,  anyhow ! "  and  Gilbert  took  Bay's 
hand  and  pressed  it  gratefully. 

All  this  made  Ray  very  happy,  but,  like 
most  boys,  he  was  averse  to  showing  the 
emotion,  and  so  said,  hastily,  "  But  your 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  73 

papers  !  the  loss  of  those  is  more  than  all 
the  rest.  But  they  must  be  around  some- 
where :  I  can't  believe  any  of  the  fellows 
would  be  mean  enough  to  take  them  ! " 

To  satisfy  himself,  he  got  up  and  made  a 
thorough  search  of  the  table,  the  drawer,  as 
well  as  a  hasty  inspection  of  the  other  tables 
in  the  room.  He  came  back  to  Gilbert, 
looking  very  blank. 

"  You  're  right,"  said  he ;  "  the  packet  is 
gone." 

"  And  gone  at  a  most  unfortunate  time, 
too,"  said  Gilbert ;  "  it's  only  a  little  over  a 
week  and  a  half,  you  know,  to  examination 
day." 

"  Sure  enough  ! "  said  Ray,  with  a  start ; 
"  and  I'm  not  sure  but  that  is  the  reason  why 
it  is  gone.  Just  think,  Gilbert !  if  one  were 
mean  enough,  one  might  take  your  papers 
and  prevent  you  from  keeping  your  head- 
boy's  place  ! " 


7-i  THE  LAST   SUMMER   AT  RAIXFOED. 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  said*  Gilbert, 
soberly. 

But  it  was  a  new  thought  for  Ray,  and 
kept  him  silent  for  nearly  five  minutes.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  he  jumped  up  and 
exclaimed, tl  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  surer 
I  am  that  some  one  has  been  thieving  !  Of 
course  your  papers  didn't  take  wings  —  there 
were  so  many  monstrous  heavy  problems  in 
them,  that  they  couldn't  fly  if  they  tried  — 
and  seriously,  it  looks  like  a  plot  to  get  you 
out  of  the  head-boy's  place  ;  and  if  it  is  a 
plot,  there  isn't  but  one  fellow  in  school 
that's  mean  enough  or  wicked  enough  to 
serve  you  so,  and  that's  the  one  who  just 
went  out  this  door ;  and  Gil,  I  wish  you'd 
given  him  a  good  thrashing  while  it  was  so 
convenient ! " 

"  Well,"  said  Gilbert,  after  a  long  silence, 
"  will  you  grant  me  a  favor  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it's  granted  already." 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  75 

« 

^ 
"  Then  please  not  to  say  a  word  aboift  my 

loss  till  I  give  you  permission." 

Ray's  face  fell.  "  Now ! "  he  exclaimed, 
"  is  that  fair  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  You  see,  there  is  not  the 
slightest  suspicion  to  put  upon  any  one,  and 
what  would  be  the  use  of  telling  every  one 
of  my  loss  ?  But  if  we  are  silent  about  it 
something  may  occur  that  will  lead  us  the 
right  way." 

Ray  acquiesced. 

A  week  passed,  however,  without  anything 
having  occurred.  The  mystery  remained 
the  same,  and  there  was  no  clue  by  which 
to  unravel  it,  nor  was  there  any  definite 
suspicion  to  attach  to  any  member  of  the 
class.  Gilbert  was  somewhat  dismayed  at 
the  prospect  before  him,  —  examination  day 
only  half-a-week  off,  and  no  apparent  hope 
that  he  should  ever  see  his  much-needed 
papers  again, —  but  still  resolutely  kept  hia 
loss  to  himself,  and  waited. 


,76  THE  LAST  SUMMEE  AT   RAINFOKD. 

» 

Ray  was  much  more  anxious  and  indignant 
than  his  friend,  and  stormed  and  threatened 
the  whole  class  with  vengeance  whenever 
Gilbert  and  he  were  alone.  He  came  to  his 
friend  one  night,  begging  to  be  released 
from  the  promise  which  he  had  given. 

"  I  was  rash  that  time ! "  he  said,  laughing ; 
"but  were  you  quite  fair?  Now  release 
me,  and  you'll  never  be  sorry  !  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  if  I  release 
you  ?  "  Gilbert  asked. 

Ray  hesitated  a  while,  but  finally  said, 
"  Well,  I'm  going  to  carry  the  whole  matter 
before  Mr.  Winterhalter.  He's  got  power, 
and  he  can  make  the  thief  give  up  the 
plunder,  or  at  least  discover  him.  If  I  don't 
do  so,  you'll  just  say  nothing  and  lose  your 
rank  without  a  word,  and  no  one  will  ever 
know  that  you've  been  wronged.  I  won't 
have  it  so  !  "  said  Ray,  with  energy,  "  and  I 
want  Gates, —  for  I  know  he's  the  thief, — 
brought  to  justice.  Do  you  know? — the 


GILBERT'S  DISMAY.  77. 

sneaking  fellow  has  told  all  the  fellows  that 
you  knocked  him  down  when*  his  back  was 
turned  toward  you,  and.  that  you  did  it  out 
of  spite  and  envy  because  he  has  your  old 
rank.  Of  course  I  denied  it !  and  I  told  him 
to  his  face  that  he  was  a  sneak,  and  I  don't 
know  but  we  should  have  had  a  fight  right 
there  in  the  hall,  if  Mr.  Winterhalter  hadn't 
happened  to  come  in." 

But  Gilbert  held  Ray  to  his  promise,  much 
to  that  young  gentleman's  indignation. 

"  I  wouldn't  like,"  Gilbert  said,  « to  have 
the  whole  school  turned  into  an  uproar 
because  my  papers  are  missing.  It  would 
be  a  long  and  tedious  job,  and  even  if  it  was 
successful,  it's  too  late  to  do  any  good." 

This  was  no  consolation  to  Ray,  however. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

AN  UNKNOWN  FRIEND. 

A  S  the  third  day  before  examination  came, 
•**•  Ray  Hunter  resolved  that  he  would  re- 
veal Gilbert's  loss  to  Mr.  Winterhalter, 
whether  Gilbert  gave  him  permission  or  not. 
"  It's  for  Gilbert's  good,"  he  thought,  "  and 

what   a   shame    'twill    Be   to   have   him   fail 

» 

before  all  the  people  at  examination,  and  to 
have  everybody  think  that  it  was  because  he 
didn't  study  and  work  hard  enough.  Oh, 
that  rascally  Gates  I  I  told  Gilbert  how 
t'would  be  the  first  day  that  Gates  came  here. 
I  knew  that  they  couldn't  both  rule,  and 
Gates  don't  care  how  low  be  stoops  if  only 

he  can  rule  ;  but  Gilbert  can't  be  mean  if  he 
78 


AN  UNKNOWN   FRIEND.  79 

tries,  and  so  Captain  Philip  has  the  advan- 
tage of  him;  but  I'd  like  to  expose  the 
rascal !  I'd  just  like  Mr.  Winterhalter  and 
everybody  to  find  out  about  him  ! " 

But  Ray  had  a  lingering  fear  that  Gil- 
bert would  be  very  much  displeased  if 
the  promise  which  he  had  given  was  not 
faithfully  kept,  and  so  all  the  third  day 
before  the  coming  event  he  was  very  anx- 
ious and  undecided,  and  thought  so  much 
about  the  matter  that  his  lessons  suffered 
considerably.  He  came  to  a  decision  at  last, 
by  saying,  "  I'll  wait  till  to-morrow  morning, 
and  if  nothing  happens  before  that  time, 
I'll  go  to  Mr.  Winterhalter,  anyhow.  It's 
for  Gilbert's  good,  and  I  can  afford  to  bear 
his  displeasure  a  while." 

Now  this  evening  of  the  tj,iird  day  proved 
to  be  a  rainy  one.  It  was  not  a  blustering 
night,  but  the  rain  poured  steadily,  without 
any  lull  or  slacking,  and  the  eaves  kept  up 


80     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  BAINFORD. 

their  heavy  drip,  drip,  and  the  drops  dashed 
against  the  panes,  and  altogether  it  was  just 
such  a  night  as  one  loves  to  spend  before 
the  fire,  listening  to  the  down-pour  without. 
So,  though  every  one  ought  to  have  been 
busy  with  his  books  in  preparation  for  what 
the  next  day  but  one  was  to  bring,  Mr. 
Winterhalter's  boys  were  gathered  in  the 
school-room,  chatting,  telling  stories,  and 
making  as  merry  as  they  might.  The  lamp- 
light was  not  so  bright  but  that  the  room 
was  pleasantly  dim,  and  they  had  gathered 
together  as  inclination  prompted,  —  here  a 
little  group  withdrawn  to  hear  some  wonder- 
ful tale,  and  -there  a  boisterous  crowd  of 
twenty  or  thirty  who  welcomed  every  addi- 
tion to  their  number,  and  seemed  to  think 
they  could  not  be  too  numerous  or  too 
noisy. 

But  Gilbert  Starr,  having  been  "  cut "  by 
his  companions,  sat  all  alone  by  one  of  the 


AN  UNKNOWN   FRIEXD.  81 

windows  where  the  rain  dashed  loudest. 
Ray  had  vanished  somewhere  in  the  noisy 
crowd,  and  Perry  Kent  had  hidden  himself 
away  to  have  a  quiet  hour  with  his  lessons. 

Very  likely  some  sad  and  sorrowful 
thoughts  crept  into  Gilbert's  heart  as  he  sat 
here,  quite  deserted,  and  looked  around  him 
at  the  merry  and  happy  groups.  Once,  he 
remembered,  there  was  not  one  of  those 
present  who  would  have  thought  their  circle 
complete  without  him ;  nor  one  who  would 
not  have  thought  it  a  great  honor  to  sit 
beside  him. 

Now,  how  changed  it  all  was !  No  one 
cared  for  his  company,  or,  at  least,  they 
pretended  they  did  not,  and  he  might  have 
been  a  bench  or  a  chair  for  all  the  attention 
they  paid  him.  And  all  this  neglect  was  be- 
cause he  chose  to  do  what  he  thought  was 
right, — what  he  knew  was  right.  "It's  very 
strange  that  just  doing  right  should  have 


82     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

brought  all  this  about,"  Gilbert  thought; 
"  and  it  does  seem  as  if  there  never  was  to 
be  an  end  to  it ! "  Then  he  had  been  robbed 
of  his  papers,  and  his  rank  was  in  all  proba- 
bility to  be  lost  to  him  after  two  short  days, 
and  altogether  he  felt  very  much  disgusted 
and  down-hearted  at  the  "moment.  "  I  de- 
clare ! "  he  thought,  bitterly, "  if  it  weren't  for 
Ray  and  Perry  and  the  Winterhalters,  I  be- 
lieve I'd  pack  my  trunk  and  leave  school 
to-morrow  morning." 

Now,  as  you  know  well  enough,  this  was 
not  Gilbert  Starr  in  his  own  naturally  cheer- 
ful and  courageous  spirit.  The  loss  of  his 
papers,  and  the  prospect  of  the  loss  of  his 
rank,  had  disheartened  him ;  and  the  patter 
of  the  rain  that  to  the  merry  crowd  was 
cheerful,  to  him  sounded  only  sad  and  cheer- 
less. He  did  not  remove  himself  from  the 
sound  of  its  wailing,  however,  but  sat  listen- 
ing to  it  with  a  dull  aching  in  his  heart, 


AN   UNKNOWN   FRIEND.  83 


thinking,  as  he  looked  out  in  the  black 
depths  of  the  night,  that  there  was  not  a 
more  solitary  fellow  in  the  wide  earth  than 
himself;  which  thought  was  quite  untrue,  as 
he  himself  would  have  remembered  at  any 
other  time. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Perry 
Kent  made  his  appearance.  "  Why,  Gilbert," 
said  he,  smiling,  "  you  look  very  lonesome  ! " 

Gilbert  would  not  confess  to  any  such 
weakness,  however,  but  said,  "  I'm  sick  of 
this  school !  In  fact,  I  hate  it ;  and  I've  half 
a  good  mind  to  leave  it  forever  to-morrow 
morning."  Perry's  shocked  face  made  his 
protector  laugh,  in  spite  of  his  gloominess. 
"  Come,"  said  Gilbert,  "  don't  look  like  that 
long  at  a  time,  or  I  shall  lose  ah1  my  misery 
at  once.  I  can't  stand  such  a  startled 
countenance  ! " 

"  But,"  said  the  boy,  "  you  wouldn't  go 
away  and  leave  Ray  and  .  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Win- 
terhalter,  and  —  and  me,  Gilbert  ?  " 


84  THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   EAINFO*RD. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  I  should  be 
obliged  to,"  said  Gilbert,  gravely ;  "  I  couldn't 
carry  you  all  in  my  trunk,  for  Mr.  Winter- 
halter  is  decidedly  a  big  man,  and  might 
object  to  such  close  quarters  as  I  should 
have  to  give  him ;  and  Ray  is  quite  a  tall 
fellow,  and  I  can't  think  of  any  way  by 
which  he  might  be  folded  up,  and  you  — 
well,  you  are  small  and  I  guess  I  could  tuck 
you  in  somewhere." 

Perry  laughed,  and  drew  a  long  breath  of 
relief. 

"  You  were  joking ! "  he  said,  "  and  I'm 
glad  of  it,  for,  if  you  left  school,  how  could  I 
stay  here  ?  and  oh,  just  think  of  it,  Gilbert ! 
you're  to  graduate  next  fall,  and  I've  got  to 
stay  till  —  till  I'm  a  great  grown  boy,  at 
least.  But  there's  another  reason  why  you 
oughtn't  to  leave  school, —  why  you  never 
will,  I'm  sure. 

"Well,  what's  that?"  said  Gilbert,  pleas- 
antly. 


AN   UNKNOWN    FRIEXD.  85 

"  Because,  if  you  ran  away  from  your 
trouble,  and  so  gave  up  to  it  — " 

"  I  should  be  a  coward  and  all  that,  I 
suppose,"  interrupted  Gilbert;  "well,  you 
needn't  be  alarmed,  —  I'll  put  off  going  to- 
morrow morning,  I  guess.'' 

And  here  Ray  joined  them,  very  merry 
and  cheerful  from  the  company  he  had  just 
quitted,  and  the  first  thing  he  said  to  Gilbert, 
was,  "  Well,  you've  improved  wonderfully  in 
the  last  ten  minutes.  Only  that  length  of 
time  ago  1  looked  out  this  way,  and  your 
face  was  about  twice  the  length  of  my  arm, 
and  not  quite  half  as  broad.  When  I  saAv  it, 
I  thought,  '  Well,  you'd  better  get  over  that 
way,  Ray  Hunter,  before  Gilbert  gets  despe- 
rate and  dashes  his  brains  out.'  So  I've 
come  ;  but  Perry's  ahead  of  me,  as  usual." 

"  The  first  thing  he  said  to  me,"  said 
Perry,  "was  that  he  thought  of  leaving 
school  to-morrow  morning." 


86     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

"  Leaving  school  ?  "  cried  Ray ;  "  that's  a 
pretty  story  !  I'd  like  to  see  him  undertake 
it.  What  on  earth  would  he  leave  school 
for  ?  "  But  without  waiting  for  any  one  to 
answer  his  question,  Ray  hastily  added, 
"  Come  up  stairs,  Gilbert.  'Tisn't  pleasant 
for  you  down  here ;  but  up  there  we  can  be 
quiet  and  cosey.  Come  along  without  a 
word,  as  I  tell  you.  And  you  come  too, 
Perry  !  "  for  Ray's  prejudice  toward  the  boy 
had  entirely  vanished  since  Gilbert's  mishap 
on  the  ice. 

The  three  made  their  way  between  the 
groups  out  of  the  room,  and  went  up  stairs. 
And  there  they  spent  a  very  pleasant  even- 
ing, and  Gilbert  declared  that  he  felt  won- 
derfully lighter-hearted,  and  was  quite  sure 
that  for  once  he  had  had  a  touch  of  the 
blues, —  "just  enough,  you  know,"  he  said  to 
Kay,  "  to  make  everything  look  gloomy." 

Perry  Kent  got  sleepy iand  went  to  bed, 


AN  UNKNOWN  FEIEND.  87 

and  Ray  and  Gilbert  prepared  to  follow, 
though  it  was  not  quite  nine  and  the  boys 
had  not  left  the  school-room.  Ray  was  the 
first  to  get  into  bed,  but  stepped  out  again 
very  suddenly. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  queried  Gilbert, 
laughing  a  little. 

"  Look  here  !  "  cried  Ray  ;  "  I'd  just  like  to 
know  what  you  call  this,  old  fellow?"  and 
plunging  his  hand  down  between  the  sheets, 
he  drew  out  Gilbert's  precious  and  long-lost 
packet  of  papers. 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  in  which  the 
friends  stared  at  each  other  in  utter  be- 
wilderment. Then  Gilbert  said,  "  Did  you 

mean  that  for  a  surprise  to  me  ? "  and  Ray 

* 
cried,  "  Did  you  mean  that  for  a  surprise  for 

me  ?  "  And  then  they  both  exclaimed, "  No  ! " 
with  one  breath. 

"  Then  where  did  it  come  from,  and  are 
you  sure  it's  mine  ?Jfceaid  Gilbert,  doubting 
his  own  eyes. 


88     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

"  Of  course  I  am  !  I  should  know  your 
handwriting  if  you  wrofe  Chinese  ;  and  here 
are  all  your  problems  plain  as  day,  and  the 
whole  packet  as  neat  as  a  pin.  Whoever 
has  had  it  knew  enough  to  be  choice  of  it. 
And  here  is  —  Ah,  here  is  a  note  ! "  said  Ray, 
suddenly,  as  a  bit  of  paper  fluttered  out  to 
the  floor. 

Gilbert  picked  it  up,  and  found  only  these 
words  within: 

«  G.  S. 

There's  a  plot  against  you ;  but  here  are 
your  papers  from  one  who  has  repented  his 
part  in  the  affair.  Don't  betray  me." 

And  tha^  was  all.  The  writer  had  signed 
DO  name,  and  evidently  intended  to  keep  his 
identity  a  secret.  Gilbert  handed  the  noto 
to  Ray  with  a  very  blank  face,  and  took  up 
his  mysteriously-retura^l  papers. 

"  There  1  didn't  I  teU  you  so  ?  "  said  Eay, 


AN  UNKNOWN  FKIEND.  89 

as  he  finished  the  note  ;  "  didn't  I  tell  you 
there  was  a  plot  against  you  in  the  first 
place  ?  But  there's  more  than  one  con- 
cerned in  it,  and  I  thought  it  was  only 
Gates.  And  who  could  have  repented  at 
this  late  day  ?  " 

"  It's  all  a  mystery,"  said  Gilbert,  busy 
with  his  papers ;  "  but  I'm  rejoiced  to  see 
them  again,  you  may  believe." 

"  Of  course  ! "  said  Ray,  suddenly  very 
glad  that  he  had  put  off  telling  Mr.  Winter- 
ter ;  "  but  oh,  why  couldn't  he  have  repented 
a  week  ago?  —  and  how  on  earth  does  he 
suppose  you're  going  to  betray  him  as  long 
as  you  haven't  the  slightest  idea  who  he 
is?" 

"He  means,  I  suppose,  that  I'm  not  to 
betray  to  any  one  that  my  papers  are  re- 
turned to  me." 

"  Then  you'll  have  to  be  spry,"  said  Ray, 
hastily  getting  into  bed,  "  for  there  goes  the 
bell,  and  there  come  the  fellows,  pell-mell." 


90     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

Gilbert  followed  just  as  the  door  opened 
to  admit  Gates  and  the  rest  of  the  class,  and 
ensured  the  safety  of  his  packet  by  putting 
it  under  his  pillow.  It  did  not  take  long  for 
the  room  to  settle  down  to  quietness,  and 
then  Ray  began  to  whisper  so  many  con- 
jectures concerning  the  mysterious  affair, 
that  it  was  fully  an  hour  before  they  were 
•both  asleep.  Gilbert  fancied  him'self  to  be 
pretty  certain  that  this  unknown  friend  was 
Tom  Fowler.  He  thought  the  awkward 
handwriting  resembled  that  young  gentle- 
man's very  much ;  but  as  Ray  did  not  seem 
to  suspect  any  such  thing,  he  was  silent 
about  his  own  suspicions,  and  went  tcPfcleep 
very  grateful  toward  some  unknown  friend 
in  his  class.  But  when  he  awoke  the  next 
morning,  the  event  of  the  previous  evening 
seemed  so  much  like  a  dream,  that  he  had  to 
put  his  hand .  under  the  pillow  to  assure 
himself  that  it  was  all  a  reality. 

He  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 


AN   UNKNOWN   FRIEND.  91 


when  the  members  of  his  class  came  down 
to  breakfast,  and  there  was  not  a  face  that  he 
did  not  scan  lon^  and  attentively ;  but  his 
scrutiny  was  all  without  result.  He  fancied 
Al  Turner  colored  a  little  under  his  gaze,  but 
thought  little  about  it,  —  partly  because  he 
thought  Al  would  be  the  last  person  to 
repent  of  such  a  deed  if  once  committed, 
and  partly  because  he  could  not  convince 
himself  that  his  old  secretary  would  stoop  to 
such  a  meanness  and  wickedness  as  down- 
right theft.  And  so  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  it  was  Tom  Fowler  to  whom  he  was 
indebted,  —  thus  hitting  very  wide  of  the 
mark. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Gilbert 
hurried  back  up-stairs  to  his  precious  packet. 
"  Oh,  if  1  had  but  had  it  a  week  ago  !  "  he 
thought,  with  a  bitter  feeling  welling  up  in 
his  heart  towards  Gates.  He  had  meant  to 
pass  the  examination  very  skilfully,  if  not 


• 

92     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOKD. 


even  brilliantly,  and  the  thought  of  so  doing 
had  done  a  great  deal  toward  consoling  him 
for  being  shut  out  from*the  society  of  his 
old  comrades ;  but  here  was  all  hope  of  a 
brilliant,  or  even  tolerable  examination,  cut 
oflf  by  the  maliciousness  of — who?  Gates, 
he  was  sure ;  and  the  thought  made  his 
breath  come  thick  and  fast,  and  the  hot  blood 
swell  in  his  veins.  He  felt,  just  then,  as  if 
it  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  have 
Gates  in  the  same  position  in  which  he  had 
had  him  once  before,  and  to  have  no  one 
interfere.  But  then,  what  good  would  it  do, 
after  all? 

Gilbert  sat  down  to  his  papers  with  a 
sigh,  and  prepared  to  settle  down  to  hard 
work;  but  before  he  had  read  a  line,  Ray 
came  scampering  up-stairs  in  his  usual  head- 
long manner,  and  burst  in  upon  his  friend 
with  a  great  clatter. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  look  so  disappointed," 


AN   UNKNOWN   FRIEND.  93 

said  he,  instantly  changing  his  bustling 
manner ;  "  I've  come  to  help  you.  Show  me 
where  you  begin,  and  I'll  look  out  the  an- 
swers to  your  problems,  while  you  copy 
them." 

"  But  your  own  lessons  ?  " 

"  Are  all  right !  don't  you  mind." 

"  But,  Ray  —  " 

"  Pshaw  !  I  won't  take  a  word  from  you  ; " 
and  he  sat  down  resolutely  beside  Gilbert 
and  went  to  work.  They  worked  steadily 
till  it  was  time  for  recitations, —  Ray,  very 
patient  and  careful. 

When  evening  came,  Gilbert  withdrew  to 
a  silent  corner  of  the  school-room,  where  he 
was*soon  absorbed  in  his  books  and  papers, 
and  was  not  disturbed  till  he  felt  a  hand  laid 
upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  Ray  again,  pencil 
and  paper  in  hand. 

"  Now  look  here,"  protested  Gilbert,  "  go 
to  your  own  books.  I'll  manage,  somehow." 


94  THE   LAST   STJMMEE   AT   BAINFORD. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Ray,  stoutly,  and  sat  down. 

"  But  you  aren't  fair  to  yourself,"  said 
Gilbert ;  "  you  might  win  my  place  if  you'd 
only  study  and  make  an  effort." 

•"  There,  don't  be  foolish,  Gilbert,  dear," 
said  Ray.  "  Just  as  if  we  weren't  friends  ?  " 

Was  it  not  something  to  be  such  friends  as 
they  were  ? 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GATES'S    DISMAY. 

remaining  day  before  examination 
•*•  wore  around  with  hard  study  on  the 
part  of  many  besides  Gilbert  Starr,  though 
may  be  he  sat  longest  into  the  night  and 
worked  hardest,  and  the  morning  of  the 
important  day  dawned  very  sunny  and 
spring-like.  All  the  boys  in  Gilbert's  room 
were  up  early,  some  to  snatch  a  few  last 
minutes  at  their  books,  and  some  to  spend 
the  time  in  the  preparation  of  unusually 
nice  toilets,  —  a  practice,  you  know,  which 
boys  are  not  greatly  addicted  to,  except  on 
such  important  occasions  as  examination- 
day. 

85 


90     THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFOKD. 

Captain  Philip  Gates  was  very  smiling  and 
agreeable  to  every  one,  and  did  not  disdain 
to  notice  Gilbert  with  a  condescending  nod, 
which  Ray  had  the  bad  manners  to  laugh  at. 
And  breakfast  came  very  early,  in  order  that 
every  one  might  have  time  to  prepare  for 
the  opening  exercises,  which  were  to  begin 
at  ten;  and  after  breakfast  they  returned 
to  books  or  toilets,  just  as  they  were  minded. 

Gilbert  finished  his  own  dressing  for  the 
occasion  in  a  very  few  minutes,  and  went 
back  to  his  books ;  but  Ray  lingered  before 
the  glass  that  hung  over  their  table,  and 
lingered  so  long  that  Gilbert  at  last  looked 
up  from  his  papers,  smiling  a  little. 

"  Well,"  said  Ray,  laughing,  "  you  may 
smile  if  you  like,  but  I  never  saw  my  hair, 
collar,  or  necktie,  act  half  so  bad  at  any 
other  time  when  I  didn't  care  particularly 
about  'em.  Of  course,  all  three  of  them 
know  that  it's  examination-day,  and  are  on  a 


GATES'S   DISMAY.  97 

strife  to  do  their  worst.  But  go  on  with 
your  books,  Gil, —  I'll  get  through  in  the 
course  of  the  day." 

Gilbert  went  on  with  his  studying,  but 
Ray  presently  exclaimed,  —  "  There  was  one 
thing  I  was  going  to  keep  for  a  surprise  for 
you,  old  fellow,  but  I  expect  that  it's  all  up 
now.  Mother  was  to  come  on  and  so  be 
here  at  examination,  and  I  was  the  happiest 
fellow  all  last  week,  thinking  about  it ;  but 
that  letter  I  had  last  night  said  that  her 
coming  was  all  uncertain,  because  father's 
business  kept  him  back,  and  she'd  have  to 
come  alone  if  she  came  at  all.  But  I  shall 
look  for  her, 'yet ;  and  I  want  you  to  see  her, 
old  fellow !  She's  the  best  mother  a  fellow 
ever  had,  and  I  meant  to  surprise  you  by 
taking  you  down  into  Mrs.  Winterhalter's 
parlor  and  introducing  you  all  of  a  sudden.  I 
declare,"  Ray  added,  as  an  after-thought, 
"if  I  were  to  graduate  at  college  and  take 


98  THE   LAST   SUMMEE   AT   RAIXFORD. 

all  the  honors,  I  don't  believe  fathered  think 
he  could  leave  his  business  long  enough  to 
see  me  do  it.  But  mother  —  well,  just  wait 
till  }-ou  see  her,  Gilbert." 

Which  Gilbert  said  he  would  endeavor  to 
do,  and  went  on  with  his  studies.  But  Ray 
was  too  light  of  heart  to  keep  silent  long  at 
a  time,  and  presently  exclaimed  — "  Look 
here,  Gilbert,  you're  the  funniest  fellow ! 
You  didn't  spend  ten  minutes  getting  ready, 
when  you're  head-boy,  and  everybody,  of 
course,  will  look  at  you  before  the  rest." 

"  They  '11  not  want  to  look  long,"  .  said 
Gilbert,  "  after  they  hear  what  a  miserable 
review  I've  got  to  offer  them.  Oh,  Ray,  but 
I'm  tempted,  you  don't  know  how  hard,  to 
lay  hands  on  Gates  every  time  I  meet  him." 

"  I  wish  it  was  best  1 "  said  Ray,  quickly  ; 
"but  it  wouldn't  quite  do,  and  I'm  awful 
sorry  about  it.  But  wait,"  he  suddenly 
added,  "there's  one  way  we  can  do.  I 


GATES'S   DISMAY.  99 

haven't  the  scruples  you  have,  you  know, 
and  I'll  thrash  him  for  you.  I'm  not  quite 
his  height,  but  I  can  do  it ;  what  do  you  say, 
Gilbert?" 

Gilbert  smiled  at  the  novel  method  of 
giving  Gates  his  deserts.  "  Thank  you," 
said  he ;  "  but  let's  drop  the  subject.  I'm  in 
a  furious  hurry,  and  it  don't  help  me  any  to 
talk  about  Gates.7' 

"  That's  a  hint  for  me  to  keep  quiet,"  said 
Eay,  "and  I'll  take  it."  And  hardly  had 
he  spoken  this,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
in  trooped  Gates  and  his  men  after  their 
books  and  papers. 

Captain  Philip  regarded  Gilbert  rather 
keenly  as  he  sat  poring  over  his  books,  and 
mentally  wondered  if  he  had  any  thought 
of  success.  Gates  desired  very  much  to 
discern  some  trace  of  anxiety  or  depression 
upon  Gilbert's  countenance ;  but  finding 
none,  consoled  himself  with  thinking,  "  He 


100    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

wouldn't  show  it  if  he  was  certain  that  he 
was  going  to  fail, —  he's  got  such  a  will  of 
his  own.  But  I  wonder  how  he'll  look  when 
I  come  to  step  into  the  head-boy's  place  and 
he  has  to  step  out  ?  " 

This  thought  was  so  pleasant  to  the 
valiant  captain,  that  it  comforted  him  for 
Gilbert's  present  unconcern,  and  presently 
he  went  off,  with  all  his  men,  in  the  gayest 
of  spirits. 

Ray  said,  "  Do  you  see  how  confident 
Gates  is  ?  Now,  I'm  ready  to  go  down,  too  ; 
when  will  you  come  ?  " 

Gilbert  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said,  "  It's 
only  half-past  nine,  and  as  I  can't  spare  a 
minute,  I  shan't  be  down  till  Mr.  Winterhal- 
ter  rings  for  us."  After  which  Ray  de- 
parted, and  Gilbert  was  alone.  He  thought 
he  had  never  known  a  half-hour  so  short. 
He  had  placed  his  watch  on  the  table  by  his 
side,  and  was  almost  dismayed  to  see  how 


GATES'S   DISMAY.  101 

fearfully  fast  the  little  golden  hands  traveled 
over  the  half-circle.  There  was  such  a  vast 
quantity  of  things  that  he  must  leave  un- 
reviewed  !  —  so  much  that  he  could  not  but 
fail  in!  —  and  when  he  thought  of  what  a 
perfect,  and  perhaps  brilliant  examination 
he  might  have  passed  but  for  the  wrong 
that  had  been  done  him  —  Well,  do  you 
greatly  wonder  that  his  hands  felt  very 
much  like  doubling  themselves  up  into  fists, 
and  that  his  breath  came  hot  and  quick  ?  " 

The  half-hour  came  to  an  end,  and  Mr. 
Winterhalter's  bell  rang,  —  the  signal  for 
gathering  together  in  the  hall.  Gilbert 
closed  his  book,  picked  up  his  papers,  and 
after  hurriedly  brushing  his  hair,  went 
down.  Ray  met  him  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

"  There's  a  great  crowd  of  people  in  the 
school-room,  and  it's  packed  full,  except,  of 
course,  where  we  are  to  sit.  And  you  '11 
have  to  hurry  a  bit,  too  !  " 


102    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

Now  it  was  Gilbert's  duty,  as  head-boy, 
to  arrange  the  classes  in  their  order  and 
to  marshal  them  into  the  audience-room  to 
their  seats.  Mr.  Winterhalter  had  nothing 
at  all  to  do  with  this,  and  had  already  taken 
his  chair  with  the  grave-looking  men  who 
had  come  to  aid  in  the  examination.  Of 
course,  Gates  had  to  submit  to  his  rival,  and 
be  placed  as  he  chose  to  place  him,  but  the 
captain  consoled  himself  with  thinking  that 
it  was  the  last  time  that  Gilbert  Starr  would 
ever  give  orders  to  him.  Then  they  filed 
up  the  long  aisle,  between  the  crowd,  to 
their  seats  in  front,  and  during  the  ten  min- 
utes that  elapsed  while  Gilbert  was  getting 
all  the  classes  seated,  Gates  was  very  self- 
satisfied  and  exultant,  thinking  that  at  the 
next  examination  he  should  receive  all  the 
admiration  that  his  rival  was"  now  receiving. 

"  It  w  an  honor  to  be  head-boy,"  he 
thought,  as  he  watched  Gilbert  walking  up 
and  down  the  aisle  beside  the  classes  that 


GATES'S   DISMAY.  103 

were  filing  into  their  seats  ;  "  and  Starr  looks 
very  handsome  doing  the  thing,  but  next 
term  !  — ah,  where  will  he  be  then  ?  " 

If  the  captain  had  taken  more  thought^  for 
his  own  whereabouts  at  that  far-distant  day, 
he  would  have  done  much  better  than  to 
have  troubled  himself  about  Gilbert's  wel- 

%re- 

Then,  the  school  being  all  seated,  the  ex- 
amination shortly  commenced.  It  began 
with  the  under  classes,  with  whom  you  are 
unacquainted,  and  so  will  not  care  to  hear 
about ;  though  these  smaller  boys  had  by 
far  the  greater  number  of  parents  -and 
friends  among  the  audience.  The  Second 
Class  came  next,  and  Perry  Kent  was  very 
successful,  as  Gilbert  was  sure  he  would 
be  ;  and  not  until  half-past  eleven  were  the 
boys  of  the  First  Class  called.  Mr.  Winter- 
halter  looked  at  them  with  a  little  thrill  of 
pride. 


104    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper  to  one  of  the 
spectacled  doctors,  "  they're  a  noble  set  of 
fellows.  You  may  ply  my  head-boy,  there, 
with  as  hard  questions  as  you  like,  for  he's 
equal  to  it.  I  haven't  the  least  fear  for  him, 
and  the  harder  you  work  at  him  the  better." 

Poor  Mr.  Winterhalter !  you  were  doomed 
to  disappointment  that  time. 

The  examination  of  the  First  Class  did  not 
open  very  brilliantly.  Gilbert  did  not  ap- 
pear very  enthusiastic,  and  simply  made 
very  brief  answers  to  the  questions  asked 
him. 

"  Is  he  ill,  or  what  ?  "  wondered  the  prin- 
cipal. The  doctors  went  on  with  their  wise 
questioning,  and  Mr.  Winterhalter  began 
to  grow  nervous.  He  wondered  what  made 
Gilbert  so  dull  and  common-place  in  his 
replies,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  troubled 
face  which  Gilbert  did  not  fail  to  note. 
Then  old  Doctor  Wayne,  who  was  a  college 


GATES'S  DISMAY^  105 

professor,  spoke  up  and  propounded  a  diffi- 
cult problem  in  mathematics.  There  was  a 
short  space  of  silence  and  reflection  on  th'e 
part  of  the  class,  then  Gilbert  raised  his 
hand  in  token  of  having  solved  it.  Mr.  Win- 
terhalter's  face  brightened. 

"  Ah,  he'll  come  to  it,  pretty  quick,"  he 
thought.  But  just  then  Gates  raised  his 
hand  to  show  that  he  had  solved  it,  too.  Mr. 
"Winterhalter  was  very  much  surprised  at 
this  unusual  smartness  on  the  part  of  the 
captain,  and  still  more  so  when  Gates's  an- 
swer proved  to  be  correct,  and  the  same  as 
Gilbert's.  He  did  not  notice  how  his  head- 
boy  bit  his  lips,  nor  the  two  bright  spots 
of  anger  that  suddenly  came  into  his  cheeks 
and  as  suddenly  faded.  Then,  as  it  was 
noon,  the  examination  was  put  over  till  after 
dinner,  the  crowd  dispersed  till  it  was  time 
for  the  exercises  to  re-open,  and  the  boys 
went  off  to  their  noon  meal  in  the  dining- 


106         THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

-•v 

room,  and  the  doctors  to  their  repast,  which 
was  served  in  Mr.  Winterhalter's  parlor. 
•Ray  found  Gilbert  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  Don't  you  mind  !  "  said  he,  comfortingly ; 
"  you  're  even  with  Gates,  and  that's  some 
consolation." 

But  Gilbert  did  mind.  "  I  might  as  well 
give  it  up,"  he  said,  bitterly ;  — "  Gates 
has  copied  all  my  answers,  —  that's  plain 
enough ! " 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  '11  make  that  all  up  when 
you  get  out  of  mathematics.  Just  wait, — 
don't  give  it  up  !  Oh,  but  if  you  let  Gates 
beat  you,  I  shall  want  to  go  and  hide  my- 
self." 

Gilbert  said  not  another  word,  but  ate 
his  dinner  and  took  a  hurried  look  into  his 
books.  The  crowd  took  their  seats  again, 
the  bell  rang,  the  old  doctors  gathered  on 
the  platform,  and  Mr.  Winterhalter  saw  the 
classes  file  in  again  with  a  more  hopeful 
heart. 


GATES'S   DISMAY.  107 

"  Gilbert  has  been  reserving  himself  for 
the  afternoon,"  he  thought,  "  and  I  shall 
have  no  reason  to  be  disappointed  in  him." 
Yet  he  had  a  secret  dread  that  again  his 
head-boy  would  prove  dull.  The  exercises 
opened  with  some  questions  from  old  Doctor 
Wayne  that  proved  too  much  for  all  but 
Gilbert,  and  he  answered  them  with  his  old 
ease  and  readiness.  Mr.  "Wiuterhalter  was 
delighted,  and  said  to  himself,  "  It's  just  as 
I  thought ;  he  was  waiting  for  afternoon." 

Then  the  old  doctor  took  up  one  of  the 
lesson-books  and  began  to  review.  The 
whole  class  did  well  till  it  came  to  solving 
problems,  and  then  there  was  a  sudden 
falling  off  in  the  answers.  The  rivalry  went 
back  to  Gates  and  Gilbert  again,  and  the 
the  audience  decided  that  the  honor  of 
head-boy's  position  would  rest  upon  one  of 
them.  Mr.  Winterhalter  could  hardly  con- 
tain his-  surprise  at  Gates's  quickness  and 


108    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

correctness.  He  began  to  think  that  the 
captain  had  been  a  very  smart  scholar  in 
disguise.  He  looked  at  the  papers  which 
he  held,  and  found  that  Gates  had  correctly 
answered  as  many  questions  as  Gilbert  him- 
self. 

"  Really,"  thought  he,  "  this  is  very  aston- 
ishing. Gilbert  will  have  to  look  out  for 
his  position." 

Now  Gates  was  quite  as  much  aston- 
ished at  Gilbert's  quickness  and  correctness. 
He  had  expected  that  his  rival  would  utterly 
fail  as  soon  as  the  exercises  were  well  under 
way  ;  but  here  was  Gilbert  answering  ques- 
tion after  question,  and  correctly  solving 
problem  after  problem.  What  could  it 
mean  ?  As  soon  as  Gates  had  fairly  got 
Gilbert's  papers  into  his  possession,  his 
first  care  was  to  copy  them,  and  then  to  hide 
the  original  packet  away  that  it  might  not 
be  seen  in  his  hands;  and  from  that  time 


GATES 'S   DISMAY.  109 

until  the  present,  he  had  not  looked  at  it. 
The  idea  that  it  could  by  any  possibility  get 
back  to  Gilbert's  hands,  had  never  entered 
his  head,  and  now  that  his  rival  showed 
such  wonderful  correctness,  he  began  to  be 
very  much  alarmed  and  dismayed. 

Doctor  "Wayne,  the  old  professor  of  mathe- 
matics, laid  down  his  book  at  last,  with  one 
last  problem.  It  was  very  difficult,  but 
Gates  recognized  it  instantly.  He  had 
found  it  written  out  very  carefully  in  Gil- 
bert's packet,  and  at  once  held  ^p  his  hand, 
thinking,  "  Now,  Gilbert  Starr,  I've  got  you  I 
you  can't  answer  that."  But  after  a  mo- 
ment's reflection,  Gilbert's  hand  came  up, 
too,  and  Gates  was  so  dismayed  at  the  sight 
that  he  stammered,  got  confused  and  gave  in 
the  wrong  answer  after  all,  while  Gilbert 
gave  in  the  right  one.  Captain  Philip  men- 
tally gave  up  the  struggle  then ;  and  the 
old  doctor  dismissed  them  with  a  good  many 


110    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

compliments.  A  short  intermission  follow- 
ed. Gilbert  and  Gates  took  their  seats  amid 
a  little  murmur  of  applause,—  Gilbert  very 
grave  and  rather  stern,  and  Gates  very 
smiling,  though  secretly  he  was  very  un- 
easy. He  began  to  suspect  that  Gilbert  had 
regained  his  packet  in  some  mysterious 
manner,  and  if  he  had  regained  it,  of  course 
he  must  know  that  he  had  been  dealt  foully 
by.  And  what  would  be  the  consequences  ? 
Gates's  stolen  plumes  began  to  trouble  him 
very  much.  ®  He  began  to  feel  that  there 
was  danger  and  disgrace  ahead  of  him. 

In  the  short  intermission,  Ray  had  time  to 
shake  Gilbert's  hand  and  whisper,  "  The  ras- 
cal came  near  beating  you,  but  he's  done 
his  worst!  You'll  have  it  ah1  your  own 
way  now,  and  so  do  your  best,  and  bring 
down  the  house  just  as  you  always  do  !  " 

And    Perry    Kent    passed    a  little    note 
across  the  boys'  shoulders,  which  said, 


GATES'S   DISMAY.  Ill 

"  DEAR  GILBEET, 

Don't  get  discouraged !  I  was  dreadfully 
afraid  that  wicked  Gates  was  going  to  beat 
you,  but  he  can't  do  you  any  more  hurt. 
Now  be  just  as  smart  as  you  can,  and  make 
up  for  all  that's  happened. 

PERRY." 

Gilbert  smiled  at  this  message  of  his  pro- 
tege's, and  looked  back  to  him  and  nodded 
assuringly.  And  both  Ray  and  Perry  took 
heart  when  they  saw  how  calmly  and  confi- 
dently he  went  back  with  his  class  at  Mr. 
Winterhalter's  call.  Gates  knew  that  it  was 
now  no  use  to  strive  for  his  rival's  position, 
and  suddenly  grew  very  dull.  Albert  Tur- 
ner, Barry  White,  and  even  Bob  Upham, 
showed  to  much  better  advantage  than  he. 
Their  scholarship,  even  in  mathematics,  was 
much  higher,  in  reality,  than  his  ;  but  they 
had  not  had  the  advantage  of  Gilbert's  so- 
lutions. Now  that  Gates  was  obliged  to 


112    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

fall  back  upon  his  own  attainments,  his  bril- 
liancy and  correctness  were  all  gone.  And, 
as  Ray  said,  Gilbert  had  it  all  his  own  way. 
His  answers  were  quick  and  prompt,  and 
delighted  Mr.  Winterhalter  very  much.  He 
listened  and  rubbed  his  hands  softly  togeth- 
er in  the  exeuberance  of  his  delight,  and 
at  last  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  old 
Doctor  Wayne's  ear,  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ? 
Solid,  sir, —  solid  to  the  very  foundation ! 
I  hope  Bainsley  will  keep  him  translating 
by  the  hour  together,  if  he  likes.  I  '11  war- 
rant that  he  can't  puzzle  him." 

"  He's  very  fair,  very  fair,"  said  the  old 
doctor,  likewise  rubbing  his  hands ;  "  send 
him  to  our  college  when  you  get  through 
with  him." 

It  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and  Professor 
Bainsley,  who  was  much  younger  than  the 
other  wise  men,  stepped  out  and  shook  Gil- 
bert's hand,  saying  before  the  whole  com- 
pany, "  I  am  very  glad  to  know  you,  sir  I  " 


GATES'S  DISMAY.  113 

Then  the  murmur  of  applause  ran  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  in  very  deep  silence 
Mr.  "Winterhalter  stepped  out  and  formerly 
re-instated  Gilbert  in  his  position  of  head- 
boy,  then  allowed  him  to  go  down  to  his 
class,  while  up  and  down  ran  the  clamor  of 
aj^plause  again.  Then,  after  a  few  prizes 
had  been  distributed  to  the  under  classes, 
the  exercises  were- over,  and  the  long-looked 
for  day  was  ended.  The  crowd  was  a  long 
time  in  dispersing,  for  there  were  fathers 
and  mothers  looking  for  their  boys,  and  boys 
looking  for  their  parents,  and  there  were  a 
great  many  going  home  to  spend  vacation. 

The  doctors  and  professors  came  down 
from  their  platform,  and  found  it  but  a  slow 
process  getting  to  Mr.  Winterhalter's  parlor. 
Gilbert  had  kept  his  seat,  waiting  for  the 
crowd  to  thin,  and  was  quite  alone,  for  Ray 
had  suddenly  darted  away  from  his  side  into 
the  crowd,  and  had  not  yet  returned.  Sud- 


114    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  BAINFORD. 

denly  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  looking  up,  there  stood  Professor  Bains- 
lev,  who  had  got  thus  far  on  his  way  to  the 
parlor. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  he  said,  smiling, 
and  shaking  Gilbert's  hand ;  "  when  do  you 
graduate  ?  " 

"  Next  October,"  Gilbert  answered,  feeling 
a  great  many  eyes  turned  upon  him  from 
all  directions. 

"  That  is  good,"  said  the  Professor,  smil- 
ing again  ;  '*  remember  our  college.  We  'd 
be  very  happy  to  see  you  there."  Aud 
with  this,  he  passed  on,  leaving  Gilbert 
rather  bewildered,  and  rather  uncertain 
whether  to  believe  his  own  ears.  Just  then, 
to  his  infinite  relief,  Kay  came  pushing 
through  the  crowd  with  a  very  happy  face. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

VERY  PLEASANT   DAYS. 

T  OOK  here,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Ray,  as 
•*-*  soon  as  he  'could  get  up  to  his  friend, 
"  my  mother  has  come.  She  arrived  this 
noon  just  as  the  exercises  opened,  and  just 
too  late  to  see  me  before  them.  Come  into 
the  parlor  and  see  her." 

"  But  the  professors  and  doctors  are  all 
there,"  said  Gilbert,  •"  and  1  wouldn't  like 
to  go  in,  unless  Mr.  "Winterhalter —  " 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  Ray,  "  but  you  're  mis- 
taken about  that.  The  professors  and  doc- 
tors all  went  into  Mr.  Winterhalter's  study, 
for  I  saw  'em.  The  parlor  is  full  of  other 
115 


116        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RArNTORD. 

people.  Come  on,  for  I  told  mother  I  was 
going  to  bring  you." 

Ray  was  so  eager  and  delighted  that  he 
could  not  wait  for  Gilbert  to  decide,  but 
tried  to  pull  him  along  by  the  arm. 

"You  needn't  hang  back,"  said  he,  "for 
it's  only  mother  you're  to  see,  and  she 
knows  you  already  !  How  could  she  help 
it,  when  my  letters  have  all  been  full  of 
you  ?  " 

"  But  —  " 

"  No  '  but's  ! '  You're  to  come  right  in 
without  a  word.  When  a  fellow  has  been 
as  smart  as  you  this  afternoon,  everybody's 
got  a  right  to  be  introduced  and  to  have  a 
shake  of  your  hand.  And  when  it's  my 
mother  —  such  a  good  mother,  too  —  I 
think  — " 

"  There,"  said  Gilbert,  "  101  go.  I'd  like  to 
know  her  very  much." 

They  followed  at  the  heels  of  the  crowd 


VERY  PLEASANT   DAYS.  117 

that  was  pressing  outward,  and  got  into  the 
hall  at  last ;  and  after  waiting  till  his  pa- 
tience was  exhausted,  Ray  took  Gilbert's 
arm  and  pulled  him  through  the  press  into 
the  parlor,  which  was  very  full  of  people. 
Most  of  them  were  parents  and  friends  of 
the  boys  in  school,  and  of  course  the  scene 
was  very  lively  and  animated,  and  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  bustle  and  chatting. 

Ray  took  his  friend  down  the  long  room, 
quite  to  the  farther  end,  and  stopped  before 
a  dark-haired,  gentle-eyed  lady. 

"  Mamma,"  said  he,  addressing  her  with 
a  tenderness  which  Ray  never  used  toward 
any  one  else,  "  this  is  Gilbert  Starr." 

Mrs.  Hunter  rose  and  took  both  of  Gil- 
bert's hands. 

"  Ah,"  said  she,  smiling  very  sweetly,  "  we 
are  old  acquaintances,  though  I  never  saw 
your  face  till  this  afternoon.  May  I  tell  you 
that  I  like  Ray's  friend  very  much  already  ?  " 


118        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   EAINFORD. 

Ray  fancied  himself  to  be  the  happiest 
person  in  school  at  that  moment,  and  stood 
by  his  mother's  side  as  she  talked  with  Gil- 
bert, feeling,  somehow,  very  proud  of  both 
of  them. 

And  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  Gilbert 
bowed  and  took  his  departure,  at  a  call  from 
Mr.  Winterhalter,  Ray  took  the  seat  which 
his  friend  had  vacated,  saying, 

"Isn't  he  smart,  and  handsome,  and 
noble  ?  —  and  is  he  at  all  what  you  fancied 
him?" 

"  Very  much  like,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter, 
smiling  at  her  son's  enthusiasm.  "  How 
could  I  help  imagining  correctly  how  he 
looked  when  your  letters  contained  but  little 
else  ?  " 

"  Well,  really,  but  there  wasn't  much  else 
to  write  about,"  said  Ray ;  "  and,  mother, 
are  you  satisfied  with  my  rank  ?  Of  course, 
1  couldn't  expect  to  beat  Gilbert,  and  if  I 
stand  next  to  him,  why  —  why  — " 


VERY   PLEASANT   DAYS.  119 

"  Yes,  I  am   satisfied,"  said  the  "  mother  ; 

x 

"  satisfied  with  your  rank,  and  satisfied  with 
your  friend.  Isn't  that  all  you  could  ask  of 
me?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ray,  gladly.  "  And  are  you 

going  to  ask  him  to  —  to You  know 

what  I  mean  ! " 

Mrs.  Hunter  put  her  hand  upon  Ray's 
forehead,  smoothing  back  the  clustering 
locks,  and  looking -at  him*  with  the  love  and 
yearning  that  make  mothers'  eyes  soft  and 
gentle. 

"  Ah,"  said  she,  "  what  a  great  boy  you. 

are   getting  to   be  !  —  growing    away   from 

• 

me,  entirely.  Almost  of  a  man's  stature, 
and—" 

But  Ray  quickly  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  no  !  I'm 
jvL^t  your  own  little  boy,  still,"  and  put  his 
head  down  in  her  lap  as  he  had  been  used 
to  doing  when  a  child,  and  was  so  happy 
and  forgetful,  with  the  dear  hand  stroking 


120    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

his  hair,  that  he  did  not  look  up  for  a  long 
time ;  and  when  he  did,  it  was  to  find  that 
Gilbert  had  returned,  and  was  smiling  a 
little  at  him. 

Ray  blushed,  as  if  he  had  been  caught 
doing  something  very  much  beneath  the 
dignity  of  a  young  gentleman  of  his  years. 

"•  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  Gilbert  had  got 
back,  mother  ?  "  he  said,  quickly. 

"  Well,"  said  she,. "  I  thought  that  as  you 
were  '  still  my  own  little  boy/  it  wouldn't 

matter  much." 
•» 

Ray  laughed.  "Well,  it's  the  truth,"  he 
said ;  "  I  am  ! — and  I  dare  say  Gilbert  would 
do  the  same,,  if  he  had  a  mother." 

"  Of  course  ! "  said  Gilbert,  sitting  down 
beside  his  friends,  and  feeling,  for  the  first 
time,  how  very  much  alone  he  was  among 
all  that  gay  company.  It  would  be  pleasant 
to  have  a  mother  like  Ray's  to  love  him  and 
be  proud  of  him ;  and  should  he  be  ashamed 


VERY  PLEASANT  DAYS.  121 

to  hide  his  head  in  her  lap,  or  to  have  her 
stroke  his  hair  ?  Not  in  the  least !  he 
thought. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Hunter  fathomed  his 
thoughts,  for  just  then  she  said,  "  Ray  tells 
me  that  you  have  no  parents,  and  no  home, 
in  reality.  May  we  hope  that  .  you  '11  go 
home  with  us  and  spend  the  vacation  ? " 
Gilbert  was  silent  a  full  minute  with  sur- 
prise, and  Ray  fairly  held  his  breath,  waiting 
for  an  answer.  Then  Mrs.  Hunter  said, 
"  You  know,  of  course,  that  nothing  could 
please  Ray  better,  and  it  would  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me,  too.  So  we  really  can't 
think  of  taking  no  for  an  answer,  unless  you 
have  some  very  important  reasons  for  an 
excuse." 

How  Ray  thanked  his  mother  for  that ! 
And  presently  Gilbert  said,  "  Yes,  I'd  like 
to  go  very  much." 

"I  declare!"  said  Ray,  jumping -out  of 


122        THE   LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD.  * 

his  chair,  "  those  are  the  best  words,  next 
to  the  ones  that  made  you  head-boy  again, 
that  I've  heard  to-day.  You  haven't  the 
remotest  suspicion  of  the  splendid  times 
we  '11  have  !  has  he,  mother  ?  Goodness 
gracious  !  I  wish  I  could  express  myself  on 
the  occasion  1  " 

"  There's  no  need  of  anything  further,  I 
think,"  said  his  mother.  "  Do  you  see  how 
dark  it  is  getting  ?  —  and  people  are  going 
very  fast.  As  it  is  quite  a  little  walk  to  the 
hotel,  1  think  it  would  be  better  for  me  to 
go,  too." 

"  But  you  '11  not  walk,"  said  Ray,  "  for  I 
shall  order  a  carriage." 

"  But  if  there  are  none  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  I'll  find  one  somewhere  !  They 
can't  all  be  gone,  and  if  you  '11  stay  here 
with  Gilbert,  I'll  go  and  look ;  "  and  he  hur- 
ried out  of  the  fast-darkening,  and  fast-thin- 
ning room. 


VERY   PLEASANT   DAYS.  123 

"  Ray  is  a  harum-scarum,"  said  Ray's 
moMier,  "and  I  can  hardly  imagine  how  he 
came  to  attach  himself  to  you,  Gilbert,"  with 
just  a  hint  in  her  tone  at  Gilbert's  present 
graveness. 

'•  Why  ?  "  said  Gilbert,  with  a  quick  smile. 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  smiling,  "  he  is 
so  very  different,  or  was  when  he  came 
under  your  influence.  I  think  I  have  you 
to  bless  for  a  great  change  ia  him  since  that 
time." 

"  Why,"  said  Gilbert,  with  honest  sur- 
prise, "  how  can  that  be  ?  "  And  then,  speak- 
ing out  the  next  thought  in  his  heart,  he 
added,  "  I  don't  know  how  to  "guide  or  rule 
myself  right,  Mrs.  Hunter,  —  indeed  I  don't ! 
I'm  only  a  beginner,  and  if  Ray  is  any  dif- 
ferent than  when  we  were  first  friends,  I 
don't  believe  the  credit  is  due  to  me  at  all." 

He  said  this  very  earnestly,  and  Ray's 
mother  knew  he  believed  it.  But  she  an- 


124    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

swered,  "  You  're  very  frank,  but  I  may  see 
some  things  which  you  do  not.  And  "it's 
none  the  less  true  that  you  Ve  done  Ray 
good  because  you  were  not  aware  of  having 
done  so :  and  Ray  writes  that  to  his  mother, 
which  he  would  hesitate  to  reveal  to  you, — 
just  as  he  ought.  Do  you  know  that  some 
people's  natures  lead  them  to  hide  all  their 
deeper  and  more  serious  feelings  under  a 
mask,  as  it  were,  of  light  and  sometimes 
even  frivolous  conduct?  Did  you  ever 
think  that  Ray  might  be  one  of  them  ?  " 

Before  Gilbert  could  answer,  the  subject 
of  their  conversation  came  hurrying  in,  his 
happy  eyes  beaming  upon  them  both. 

"  All  ready  ! "  he  said.  "  I  knew  I  should 
be  successful.  Now  will  you  take  my  arm, 
mother?"  and  as  the  gentle  lady  rose,  Ray 
added,  "  Good-by  for  half  an  hour,  old  fel- 
low —  while  I'm  gone  to  the  hotel.  I  '11 
come  back  and  help  you  pack,  for  we  start 


VERY  PLEASANT  DATS.  125 

at  ten  in  the  morning."  And  then,  with  a 
last  nod  from  them  both,  they  passed  out  of 
the  parlor. 

Gilbert  sat  down  in  the  chair  from  which 
he  had  risen  as  his  friends  departed,  with  the 
new  thought  which  Ray's  mother  had  put 
into  his  heart,  fairly  thrilling  him.  Had 
he,  all  unconsciously,  put  better  and  truer 
thoughts  into  Ray's  heart  by  his  own  efforts 
to  become  a  better  boy?  Had  this  which 
he  had  been  trying  to  do  for  his  own  ad- 
vancement in  the  right  way,  influenced  Ray 
BO  much  that  his  mother  could  perceive  a 
change  for  the  better  in  him  ? 

The  gentle  lady's  words  —  "  It's'  none  the 
less  true  that  you  've  done  Ray  good  because 
you  were  not  aware  of  having  done  so," 
were  very  pleasant  and  grateful  to  him  ;  yet 
he  could  hardly  persuade  himself  that  she 
was  right.  It  did  not  seem  as  if  he  had 
anything  to  do  in  the  matter.  "  But,"  he 


126        THE  LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

thought  "  if  it  is  true,  and  all  this  long  time 
since  I  lost  my  captaincy  and  the  fellows 
cut  me,  Kay  has  been  thinking  of  what  he 
ought  to  do  and  has  been  '  influenced,'  as 
Mrs.  Hunter  would  say,  for  the  better,  —  if 
all  this  15  true,  I'll  never  take  one  more 
thought  about  the  captain's  office  or  the 
slights  I  get,  or  whatever  may  turn  up  to 
trouble  !  Good  gracious  !  how  can  I  ?  It's 
just  as  if  a  fellow  had  been  walking  in  what 
he  thought  was  a  pretty  uncomfortable  path 
for  the  sake  of  the  right,  and  hot  thinking 
much  else  about  it,  when  of  a  sudden  it  turns 
out  to  be  God's  path  which  He  has  marked 
out  instead  of  one's  self,  and  that  one's 
walking  in  it  is  not  just  for  one's  self  alone, 
but  for  those  who  are  looking  on,  too." 

And  Ray,  he  remembered,  was  so  light 
and  gay  always,  that  he  had  supposed  him 
indifferent  and  unheeding.  Yet,  hidden  un- 
der it  all,  was  the  earnestness  and  serious- 


VERY  PLEASAXT  DAYS.  127 

ness  which  she  who  knew  him  best,  hinted 
of.  . 

Mrs.  Winterhalter  caine  into  the  room  to 
see  about  lighting  the  lamps  for  the  guests 
who  were  to  spend  the  evening  there,  and 
spying  Gilbert  in  his  far  corner,  as  she  was 
about  to  go  out,  turned  back  and  came  out 
to  where  he  sat. 

"  Are  you  down-hearted  after  such  a  bril- 
liant examination  as  you  passed  this  after- 
noon ? "  she  asked,  with  some  surprise  in 
her  tone. 

"  Oh,  no  1 "  he  answered,  brightly ;  "  I 
never  was  happier  in  my  life.  I've  a  great 
deal  to  be  happy  for,  Mrs.  Winterhalter,  and 
it  seems  to  me  I  never  thought  so  much 
about  it,  as  just  at  this  moment.  Do  you 
think,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  that  God 
ever  marks  out  a  path  for  one,  and  sets  one 
walking  in  it  without  showing,  at  first,  why 
it  is  done,  or  for  what  good  it  is  done  ?  " 


128    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  BAINFOKD. 

"  To  be  sure  I  do  !  "  she  answered  ;  "  and 
what  then,  Gilbert  ?  " 

"  Only  —  well,  it  seems  to  me  that  I've 
just  found  out  that  mine  is  one  of  His 
paths  —  I'm  not  certain,  you  know,  but  it 
seems  so  —  and  that  I  was  set  walking  in  it 
on  others'  account  besides  my  own." 

Mrs.  Winterhalter  took  his  hand  silently, 
and  pressed  it  in  that  tender  way  of  hers 
which  spoke  so  much  more  than  words  could 
have  done,  and  then  went  out. 

Gilbert  looked  at  his  watch,  and  saw  that 
it  was  nearly  time  for  Ray  to  return,  and 
passed  out  of  the  parlor,  too,  in  search  of 
his  protege. 

The  supper-bell  rang  before  he  had  taken 
two  steps  in  the  hall,  and  as  the  boys 
passed  toward  the  dining-room,  Gilbert 
found  Perry,  and  told  him  where  he  was 
going  to  spend  vacation. 

At  first  the  boy's  face  clouded  over ;  and 


VERY   PLEASANT   DAYS.  129 

noticing  this,  Gilbert  added,  "  I  wish  you 
were  going,  too.  That's  just  the  only  draw- 
back to  the  splendid  time  I'm  going  to 
have." 

"  But  it  needn't  be,"  said  Perry,  brighten- 
ing instantly  ;  "  for  it's  only  two  weeks  that 
you  '11  be  gone,  and  I  can  manage  it  pretty 
well,  somehow.  I'm  glad  you  're  going, 
Gilbert,  and  I'll  be  at  the  station  two  weeks 
from  to-night  to  meet  you."  At  which  brave 
reply,  Gilbert  was  silent. 

Ray  was  delighted  to  find  the  next  morn- 
ing a  lovely  one,  —  the  sun  bright  on  the 
river  and  its  white  sails,  and  bright  over  all 
the  land.  He  took  Gilbert  off  to  his  moth- 
er's hotel,  long  enough  before  ten,  bidding 
him  —  "prepare  to  spend  just  the  happi- 
est, merriest,  comfortablest  two  weeks  you 
ever  spent  in  your  life,  old  fellow  ! "  And 
Gilbert  did. 

Bay's  home  was  much  finer  than  anything 


130    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

Gilbert  had  anticipated,  but  this  was  not 
what  made  the  comfort  and  happiness  which 
he  found  there.  The  gentle  lady,  whom 
Kay  called  mother,  had  most  to  do  with  it, 
he  thought ;  and  in  the  pleasant  round  of 
days  that  followed,  she  grew  more  and  more 
like  a  mother  to  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FEAR   COMETH   AS   DESOLATION. 

nAPTAIN  PHILIP  GATES  was  extremely 
^  mortified  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken. 
He  had  stooped  to  a  great  meanness  and 
wickedness,  all  to  no  purpose.  It  really 
seemed  as  if  Gilbert  Starr  had  been  more 
successful  and  won  more  honors  than  ever. 
So,  with  a  great  storm  of  anger  and  morti- 
fied pride  in  his  heart,  that  was  all  the  hard- 
er to  bear  because  he  could  reveal  it  to  no 
one,  he  rushed  away,  as  soon  as  the  after- 
noon's exercises  were  over,  to  his  chamber. 

• 

He  was  confident  that  some  one  had  proved 
a  traitor,  and  therefore  was  not  greatly  as- 

131 


132        THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT   E4JXFORD. 

tonished  when,  on  searching  the  place  where 
he  had  hidden  Gilbert's  packet,  he  found  it 
gone.  The  discovery,  however,  made  his 
heart  beat  very  fast,  and  the  blood  rush  to 
his  cheeks.  Gilbert  Starr  had  the  advan- 
tage, now.  He  wa's  at  his  mercy.  "  Oh, 
why  didn't  I  burn  it  ?  "  the  captain  thought, 
regretfully ;  "  then  there  would  have  been 
no  proof ;  Starr  never  could  have  recovered 
it,  and  would  have  lost  his  place.  Oh,  why 
didn't  I  burn  it  ?  " 

Regrets  were  quite  useless,  however, 
and  Gates  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  his  bed, 
wondering  what  it  was  best  to  do.  •  Of 
course,  he  thought,  Gilbert  would  revenge 
himself  by  disclosing  all  that  had  happened 
to  Mr.  Winterhalter,  and  then  disgrace,  and 
probably  expulsion  from  school,  would  fol- 
low. The  valiant  captain  had  a  good  mind 
to  pack  his  trunk  and  leave  school  at  once, 
and  so  flee  from  the  disgrace  which  Gilbert 
Starr  had  the  power  to  bring  upon  him. 


FEAR    COMETH   A3   DESOLATION.  133 

"  Oh,  what  a  fool  I've  been ! "  Gates 
thought,  bitterly  ;  "  I've  put  myself  right  iu 
his  power,  and  without  doing  him  a  bit  of 
harm,  either;  and  now  he'll  have  his  re- 
venge !  "  He  remembered  that  Mr.  Winter- 
halter  was  very  strict  concerning  all  matters 
of  honor,  and,  if  he  punished,  it  would  be 
with  no  light  hand.  And  Gates  knew  that 
his  offence  had  not  been  a  light  one.  "  But," 
he  exclaimed,  with  a  burst  of  anger,  "  I 
won't  run  away  and  give,up  to  Starr  with- 
out a  struggle  !  I'll  stay,  if  only  to  got  that 
sneaking  traitor,  Turner,  punished !  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  him,  all  would  have  gone 
well  enough."  And  just  then  the  door 
opened,  and  Albert  himself  came  in,  bringing 
his  books  and  papers. 

Captain  Philip  started  up  with  very  big 
fists.  "  Oh,  you  traitor  !  "  said  he,  advancing 
in  a  threatening  attitude  ;  "  I'll  pay  you  for 
this !  Ill  show  you  that  you  can't  play  me 


134         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

such  a  two-sided  game,  without  having  to 
answer  for  it." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Turner,  before  his  cap- 
tain had  time  to  strike,  "  it  will  be  for  your 
interest  to.  keep  still.  Strike  me,  and  the 
whole  story  goes  before  Winterhalter." 

"What's  the  odds?"  said  Gates,  still 
threatening ;  "  the  story  will  go  before  Win- 
terhalter, anyway ;  Starr  will  do  that,  and 
if  I  pound  you  I'll  get  part  of  my  revenge, 
anyhow.  So  look  out  for — " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  cried  Turner  ;  "  you  don't 
know  Gilbert  Starr.  He  won't  take  any 
notice  of  you,  you  may  flatter  yourself.  He 
won't  stoop  enough  for  that.  However,  if 
you  wish  to  pound  me,  you  can  make  the 
attempt." 

"I   do ! "   said    Gates,   and    would   have 

carried  out  his  intentions,  had  not  the  rest 

.;of  the  boys  burst  in  with  an  account  of  how 

Professor    Bainsley    was    actually    stopping 


FEAR   COMETH   AS   DESOLATION.  135 

in  the  crowd  to  talk  with  Gilbert  Starr ;  and 
those  who  were  near  enough  declared  that 
they  had  heard  the  Professor^say  something 
about  Gilbert's  going  to  college. 

This  was  not  at  all  soothing  to  Gates's 
envious  heart.  It  did  seein  as  if  everything 
and  everybody  had  conspired  to  praise  and 
exalt  Gilbert  Starr  that  afternoon. 

"  Oh,  I  hate  him  !  I  hate  him  !  "  he  thought, 
furiously.  It  is  quite  natural  for  a  person 
to  hate  one  whom  he  has  injured,  and  as  for 
Gilbert  not  noticing  what  had  transpired, 
Gates  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it.  He 
judged  his  rival  by  himself,  and  as  the  cap- 
tain was  neither  generous  nor  magnanimous, 
he  judged  Gilbert  to  be  destitute  of  those 
virtues.  Of  course,  he  would  revenge  him- 
self !  Who  would  not  ? 

The  wretched  captain  sat  upon  his  bed, 
nursing  his  wrath  toward  Albert  Turner  and 
Gilbert,  till  the  supper  bell  rang.  Then  he 


136         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT    RAIXFORD. 

put  on  a  very  haughty  expression  of  counte- 
nance and  went  down  with  the  rest,  thinking 
to  show  Gilbert  Starr  that  he  defied  him, 
and  all  his  attempts  at  revenge.  But  really, 
this  show  of  bravado  was  quite  useless,  as 
Gilbert  did  not  look  once  in  the  captain's 
direction  during  supper,  and  when  the  meal 
was  over,  went  off  directly  with  Ray  Hun- 
ter. This  set  the  captain  somewhat  at  ease, 
though  it  puzzled  him.  Who  ever  heard  of 
such  indifference  ?  But  after  all,  it  might 
be  only  an  attempt  to  put  him  off  his  guard, 
he  thought,  and  Mr.  "Winterhalter  might 
send  for  him  to  come  to  the  study  at  any 
moment..  But  the  evening  passed  and  no 
such  message  came. 

The  next  day  —  the  first  of  vacation  — 
dawned,  and  an  hour  or  two  after  breakfast, 
Gates  discovered  that  Gilbert  Starr  had 
gone  home  with  Ray  Hunter  to  spend  the 
two  weeks  of  recreation.  Then  his  heart 


FEAR   COMETH   AS   DESOLATION.  137 

gave  a  great  bound  of  relief,  and  he  began 
to  think  that  what  Al  Turner  had  said  might 
be  true,  after  all.  And  if  it  was  true,  Gates 
thought,  what  a  capital  chance  of  revenge 
Starr  ha'd  neglected !  Really,  it  seemed 
almost  a  pity  to  have  such  a  magnificent 
opportunity  pass  by  neglected,  even  though 
its  improvement  would  bring  ruin  and  shame 
upon  himself. 

But  before  the  forenoon  had  passed  away, 
Gates  chanced  to  meet  Mr.  Winterhalter  in 
the  hall,  and  the  principal  interrupted  him. 

"  Now,"  thought  the  captain,  with  a  shrink- 
ing at  his  heart,  "  your  time  has  come,  old 
fellow!  But  keep  up  a  firm  cheek,  what- 
ever you  do ! " 

But  Mr.  "Winterhalter  had  only  stopped 
him  to  say,  "  Really,  Philip,  but  we  were 
very  much  surprised  and  pleased  with 
that  examination  in  mathematics,  yesterday. 
We'd  no  expectation  of  anything  so  brilliant. 


138         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT    RAINFORD. 

Next  term  we  shall  look  for  great  things 
from  you." 

Then  he  passed  on,  leaving  Gates  quite 
silent,  and  not  without  some  sense  of  shame 
and  meanness  in  his  heart.  But  this  feeling 
was  only  fleeting,  and  then  he  thought,  joy- 
fully, "  The  old  chap  doesn't  suspect  any- 
thing about  it,  so  I'm  all  right !  Really,  I 
wonder  if  Starr  was  such  a  fool  as  not  to 
know  what  an  advantage  he  had  of  me  ?  " 

What  do  you  think  ?  —  was  it  Gilbert's 
dulness  and  lack  of  perception  that  led  him 
to  pass  by  this  opportunity  for  revenge,  or 
was  it  —  something  else  ? 

The  two  weeks  of  vacation  passed  very 
swiftly  to  those  who  spent  them  at  home, 
but  began  to  drag  a  little  to  those  who  were 
so  unfortunate  as  to  be  left  at  Rainford. 

Perry  Kent  was  one  of  those  to  whom 
the  last  day  of  the  second  week  seemed 
very  long  and  almost  unending.  Never 


FEAR   COMETH   A3   DESOLATION.  139 

before,  since  the  little  boy's  arrival  at  school, 
had  Gilbert  been  absent  a  single  day,  and 
his  present  two  weeks'  absence  was  felt 
very  keenly.  The  two  weeks  that  were  so 
short  to  his  protector,  seemed  as  long  to 
Perry  as  the  whole  past  term  had  been. 
Yet,  in  due  course  of  time,  Saturday  night 
wore  around,  —  the  Saturday  night  which 
the  boy  had  so  long  looked  forward  to,  and 
it  found  him  waiting  at  the  Eainford  station 
in  the  great  crowd  of  travelers,  and  persons, 
who,  like  himself,  were  waiting  for  friends. 

The  constantly  arriving  and  departing 
trains,  the  whistling,  bell-ringing,  bustle  and 
roar  of  a  great  crowd,  made  such  confusion, 
that  Perry  began  to  doubt  whether  he 
should  find  his  friend  at  all.  There  were 
plenty  of  school-boys  among  the  newly- 
arrived,  and  plenty  of  faces  that  Perry 
knew ;  and  suddenly,  while  he  was  peering 
into  the  crowd,  he  felt  himself  lifted  quite 


"140         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

oH  the  platform,  and  quite  as  suddenly  set 
down  again,  and  turning  around,  there  stood 
Gilbert  and  Ray,  both  of  them  just  as  fresh, 
and  bright,  and  handsome  as  possible. 

"  So  glad  to  see  you  !  "  said  Gilbert,  tak- 

• 

ing  his  protege  up  again  ;  "  how're  the  Win- 
terhalter's  school,  yourself,  and  everybody 
else?" 

"  First  rate  !  —  and  oh,  what  a  two  weeks 
it's  been,  Gilbert,  —  so  long,  so  dull,  and  so 
tedious  ! "  cried  Perry,  clinging  fast  to  Gil- 
bert's hand. 

"  Well,  that  doesn't  at  all  agree  with  my 
two  weeks,"  said  Perry's  protector,  laugh- 
ing. "  Ray  and  I  found  them  so  short  that 
we  were  actually  puzzled  to  account  for  the 
time,  and  it  doesn't  seem  much  longer  than 
yesterday,  since  we  were  here  in  the  depot 
bound  for  a  half-mouth  of  pleasure. 

"  Gilbert  looked  wonderfully  refreshed  and 
brightened  up,  Perry  thought,  and  this  quite 


FEAE   COMETH   AS   DESOLATION.  141 

paid  him  for  all  the  dullness  and  dragging 
of  the  two  weeks.  Then  they  started  home- 
ward through  Rainford  streets,  talking  very 
merrily,  and  thinking  that,  aflfer  all,  it  was 
one  of  the  dearest,  pleasantest  old  towns 
that  man  ever  made, —  especially  just  now, 
when  they  were  so  glad  to  get  back  to  it, 
and*"  the  streets  were  full  of  light-hearted 
school-boys  like  themselves,  and  the  west 
was  shining  like  a  topaz  —  so  warm  and 
yellow  and  full  of  splendid  light.  And  the 
next  morning  they  were  hard  at  work  over 
their  books  again. 

Hot  weather  came  very  early  that  sum- 
mer. It  seemed  as  if  there  had  been  a  mis- 
take somewhere  in  Mother  Nature's  calen- 
dar, and  that  August  had  got  substituted  for 
June.  The  last  days  of  the  month  of  roses 
were  fairly  scorched,  as  if  by  the  breath  of 
a  furnace,  and  July  came  in  hot  and  glowing, 
and  without  a  tojien  of  the  much-needed 


142        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

and  long-looked  for  rain  or  showers.  The 
grass  began  to  wither  and  crisp,  and  Mr. 
Winterhalter's  garden,  back  of  the  school- 
buildings,  soon  grew  to  look  forlorn  and 
disconsolate.  The  trees  drooped,  dirty  and 
gray  with  dust,  and  all  the  land  began  to 

sigh  for  rain.     But  no  rain  came. 

• 
This    unusual   weather    soon   produced   a 

perceptible  effect  upon  study  and  tasks. 
Scholars  grew  listless  and  indolent,  and  les- 
sons were  but  poorly  learned  or  recited. 
Though  the  windows  were  wide  open,  the 
school-room  would  be  very  hot  and  suffo- 
cating, even  during  morning  exercises ;  for 
there  was  no  dew  at  night,  and  the  great 
earth  seemed  to  have  lost  all  moisture  or 
coolness,  and  the  night-time  was  as  swelter- 
ing as  the  day.  It  was  very  uncomfortable 
and  oppressive,  everybody  knew,  but  as  yet 
no  one  had  thought  particularly  of  danger. 
One  Sunday  afternoon,  Gilbert  and  Ray 


FEAR   COMETH  AS  DESOLATION.  143 

with  Perry  Kent,  had  gone  down  to  the 
river's"  edge  to  catch  a  breath  of  fresh  air, 
if  possible.  They  had  a  shady  seat  under 
a  low-hanging  old  apple  tree,  but  as  for 
wafts  of  fresh  air  they  were  not  to  ^e  found, 
even  there.  Glassy,  almost  motionless,  the 
river  lay  under  the  burning  sun.  A  sail  or 
two  hung  listless  and  becalmed  over  against 
the  opposite  shore.  The  river-meadows,  that 
should  have  been  green  and  rank,  were 
faded  to  a  dull  brown,  and  the  whole  wide 
view,  despite  the  sunshine,  seemed  very 
cheerless  and  melancholy.  Something  of 
this  had  touched  Ray  Hunter's  bright  spirits, 
and  for  half  an  hour  he  had  lain  with  his 
head  upon  his  arm,  feeling  very  much  de- 
pressed, and  listening  while  Gilbert  read, 
" '  Hide  not  thy  face  from  me  in  the  day 
when  I  am  in  trouble ;  incline  thine  ear 
unto  me ;  in  the  day  when  I  call  answer  me 
speedily.  For  my  days  are  consumed  as 


144        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

smoke,  and  my  bones  are  burned  as  a 
hearth.' " 

Then  he  broke  his  long  silence  with,  "  I 
say,  Gilbert,  doesn't  that  apply  to  these 
days  ?  it  seems  to  me  that  I  never  saw 
such  a  gloomy  time,  for  all  the  sunshine  and 
clear  weather.  It's  worse  than  any  cold  can 
be,  or  any  heat  that  I  ever  saw  before.  I 
feel  just  burnt  up  entirely." 

Gilbert  looked  off  the  Book,  across  at  the 
hazy  hillside  and  at  the  burning,  sluggish 
tide,  and  at  last  brought  his  eyes  back  to 
Ray.  "  I  think  David  must  have  felt  such 
parching  heat  and  seen  such  a  burning  day 
as  this,"  he  said ;  "  else  he  never  would  have 
compared  his  affliction  to  them.  But  this 
is  the  way  he  comforted  himself, —  with 
thinking,  '  But  thou,  0  Lord,  shalt  endure 
forever  ;  and  thy  remembrance  unto  all  gen- 
erations.' " 

"  I  wish  we  might  do  it, —  as  he  did,"  said 
Perry  Kent. 


FEAR   COMETH   AS   DESOLATION.  145 

Before  Gilbert  had  time  to  reply,  Bob' 
Upham  came  hurrying  down  the  bank,  quite 
interrupting  their  quiet.  As  he  was  one 
of  Gilbert's  old  men,  he  was  supposed  to 
have  cut  his  old  captain's  acquaintance,  and 
so  Ray  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  wonder  how  on  earth  you  can  hurry  !  " 
he  said  ;  "  it's  more  than  I  can  do,  comforta- 
bly, to  keep  still." 

"  But,"  said  Bob,  quickly,  "  there's  reason 
to  hurry.  You  don't  know  what's  happened 
since  noon." 

"  What  has  ?  "  queried  Ray,  as  a  matter 
of  necessity,  and  wishing  that  Bob  would 
go  away. 

"  Why,"  said  the  new  comer,  "  Tom  Fow- 
ler, Al,  Gates,  besides  half  a  dozen  in  the 
under  classes,  are  sick, —  taken  as  suddenly 
as  that !  Winterhalter  had  the  doctor  over 
from  Rainford  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  queried  Ray,  eager- 
ly enough  this  time. 


146    THE  LAST  SUMMEK  AT  RAINFORD. 

•  "  Fever  !  and  dangerous,  too,  the  doctor 
said.  There's  plenty  sick  over  in  town  of 
the  same  kind,  and  it's  so  contagious,  that 

Mr.  Winterbalter  is  going  to  call  the  school 

.•• 
together  at  four  o'clock,  for  'all  it's  Sunday, 

and  see  what's  best  to  be  done.  So  I  came 
down  to  tell  you." 

"  It  wants  only  a  quarter  of  four,  now," 
said  Ray,  looking  at  his  watch  as  Bob 
walked  away. 

Then  the  two  friends  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  for  a  few  short  seconds,  both, 
doubtless,  thinking  of  the  danger  that  threat- 
ened. Ray  spoke  first. 

"  We  might  have  kno\vn  what  would  come 
from  such  a  long,  dreadful  heat,"  said  he, 
looking  at  the  scorched  meadows  and  glow- 
ing river  ;  "  and  what  will  you  do,  Gilbert  ?  " 

"  Go  up  to  the  house,  first,  of  course," 
said  Gilbert ;  "  we  can  tell  better  when 
we  've  seen  Mr.  Winterhalter.  Come,  Fer- 
ry 1 " 


FEAR   COMETH   AS   DESOLATION. 

They  walked  slowly  up  the  crisp,  scorched 
lawn,  Ray's  heart  getting  very  heavy.  It 
had  not  been  light  and  cheerful  that  after- 
noon, and  now  it  was  doubly  oppressed. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  he  shivered,  as  they  entered 
the  school-room  and  saw  the  boys  gathered 
in  a  deep  silence,  "  it's  all  so  sudden  !  —  and 
I  can  bear  anything  better  than  sickness." 

To  which  Gilbert  replied,  "  Pshaw  !  don't 
lose  your  courage  yet;  Ray." 

Mr.  Winterhalter  did  not  keep  them  long. 
He  told  them  frankly  that  the  fever  was 
dangerous,  and  thought  to  be  contagious  ; 
that  many  people  in  the  town  were  ill  with 
it ;  that  he  had  not  yet  decided  to  close 
school,  but  those  who  were  alarmed,  or  who 
wished  to  go  home  were  free  to  do  so  on  the 
following  morning.  And  then  he  dismissed 
them. 

There  were  but  very  few  of  the  smaller 
boys  who  did  not  at  once  decide  to  start  for 
home  the  next  morning.  Ray  came  to  Gil- 


148    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

bert,  saying,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? 
It's  time  to  decide." 

"  I've  no  home  to  go  to,"  said  Gilbert,  "  and 
I  do  not  think  I  should  go  if  I  had." 

"  But  having  no  home  need  make  no  dif- 
ference," said  Ray,  quickly.  "  Mine  is  yours, 
too,  and  you  know  you  '11  be  welcome. 
Come,  go  home  with  me,  and  be  safe." 

But  Gilbert  shook  his  head.  "  I  '11  stay," 
said  he  ;  "  I  wouldn't  like  to  run  away.  Per- 
haps I  'd  ought  to  stay  —  I  don't  know, —  at 
any  rate  I  shall  not  go  yet." 

"  Then  I  shall  stay,"  said  Ray,  decisively. 

But  to  this,  Gilbert  objected  at  once. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  you  must  go  home. 
You  're  half  sick  already,  but  that  good 
mother  of  yours  will  make  you  all  right  in 
no  time  ;  while  if  you  stay  here  you  may 
have  a  long  illness  and  not  half  the  good 
care  !  You  must  go  home,  Ray  !  and  I  wish 
I  had  half  as  good  a  place  to  send  Perry 
Kent." 


FEAE   COMETH  AS  DESOLATION.  149 

"  Look  liere,"  said  Ray,  with  sudden  fire, 
"  that  plan  may  please  you  first-rate,  but  it's 
a  poor  rule  that  won't  work  both  ways.  If 
you  want  me  to  go  home  you  know  what 
will  send  me, —  nothing  less  than  your  con- 
sent to  go,  too.  So  that's  settled  1 " 

"  But  —  » 

Ray  wheeled  and  walked  away.  "  That's 
my  decision,"  he  called  back ;  "  you  know 
what  will  alter  it." 

They,  all  the  well  ones,  slept  in  the  school 
room  that  night ;  and  the  next  morning  there 
was  a  general  Tush  for  home.  That  day 
only  one  new  case  occurred,,  and  this  was 
Barry  White,  who  had  not  felt  able  to  leave 
with  the  rest.  So  school  was  virtually 
broken  up,  and  upon  the  shoulders  of  the 
"Wmterhalters  rested  a  great  care  and  anxie- 
ty. The  good  lady's  face  —  so  weary,  grave, 
and  troubled  —  haunted  Gilbert  long  after 
he  went  to  bed  that  night. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GILBERT'S  OFFEB. 

"TTTITH  the  first  sunbeams  that  stole 
'  '  through  the  slats  of  the  shutters,  Gil- 
bert  got  up, —  his  first  thought  being  of 
Mrs.  Winterhalter's  grave,  weary  face  that 
had  so  oppressed  him  on  the  previous  night. 
It  had  got  to  be  a  custom  with  them  all 
to  look  for  signs  of  rain  when  arising,  and 
Gilbert  slowly  pushed  open  the  shutters, 
with  little  hope,  however,  of  finding  any 
such  blessed  promise  in  the  sky,  and  looked 
out.  Hot,  molten,  fiery,  the  sun  was  push- 
ing up  through  some  low-lying  bands  of 
smoke-colored  clouds,  and  its  red  rays  were 
beginning  to  travel  over  the  parched  earth, 

150 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  151 

and  all  the  sky  was  set  aglow  with  the 
brazen  light  that  had  hidden  its  cool  blue 
for  so  many  weary  days.  Afar,  the  hills 
seemed  ready  to  ignite  as  soon  as  the  sun's 
hot  spears  should  touch  them,  and  flame  up 
in  a  conflagration  that  might  set  the  earth 
a-burning.  Not  a  waft  of  cool  air  greeted 
him,  not  a  trace  of  the  dewy  freshness  and 
fragrance  of  morning-time  ;  but  parched  and 
stifling  the  new-born  day  came  up  to  its 
work  with  flaming  banners  and  outriders  of 
hot  and  fiery  garb,  bringing  death  and  evil 
in  their  train. 

Already  the  fainting  fields  had  caught  the 
glow,  and  glared  the  same  sickening  color 
as  the  sky.  Gilbert  closed  the  shutters  to 
shut  out  the  hateful  gleaming,  and  turned 
away  with  a  sigh.  In  spite  of  himself  his 
heart  began  to  feel  heavy  and  oppressed. 
Just  then  Ray  began  to  turn  uneasily  upon 
his  hard  bed,  and  at  last  he  opened  his  eyes 


152        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   EAINFORD. 

in  a  bewildered  sort  of  way  upon  the  un- 
familiar surroundings  of  their  sleeping-room, 
and  said,  as  soon  as  he  had  fairly  made  out 
his  whereabouts,  "  Are  there  any  signs  of 
rain  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gilbert ;  "  it's  hotter  than  ever. 
It  seems  as  if  the  earth  would  catch  fire  and 
burn  up.  The  hills  fairly  smoke." 

Ray  drew  a  long  sigh.  Gilbert  threw 
himself  down  upon  one  of  the  benches,  feel- 
ing very  listle-ss,  and  thinking  that  he  felt 
much  like  one  of  those  parched,  withered 
fields  that  he  had  just  seen  glowing  in  the 
sun.  He  heard  Ray  get  up  from  his  hard 
bed  and  step  slowly  about  while  dressing, 
and  presently  he  was  roused  from  a  little 
reverie  by  his  friend  coming  and  seating 
himself  beside  him.  Gilbert  looked  up  at 
his  friend's  heavy  eyes  and  pale  face,  saying, 
quickly,  "  Ray,  you  are  half-sick !  You 
oughtn't  to  be  here  another  day." 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  153 

"  That's,  what  I've  come  to  see  you  about," 
said  Ray  ;  "  will  you  £b  home  with  me  ?  " 

"  To  help  you  on  the  journey  ?  Yes,  if 
you  '11  only  go  !  " 

Bay's  face  fell.  "  No,  no,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  1  mean  will  you  go  home  with  me  and 
stay  ?  I'm  going  to  ask  you  this  question 
every  morning  till  you  consent." 

If  anything  could  have  induced  Gilbert 
to  consent,  it  was  Ray's  pale  face  and  heavy 
eyes.  He  took  his  friend's  hand  and  fancied 
it  felt  hot  and  feverish. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  stay  here  another  min- 
ute ! "  he  exclaimed,  energetically.  "  You  're 
a  foolish  fellow  if  you  don't  take  the  cars 
and  start  for  home  this  very  morning." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ray  ;  "  you  know  what 
will  make  me." 

'•'Pshaw !"  said  Gilbert,  impatiently,  "you're 
unreasonable  about  it.  I  haven't  decided 
that  1  ought  to  go,  yet.  I'm  head-boy,  you 


THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

know,  and  though  the  "Winterhalters  never 
will  ask  me,  I've  been^inking  that  perhaps 
I  ought  to  stay  and  help  them  through  this 
trouble.  They'll  have  their  hands  full,  with 
all  the  help  they  can  get,  and  I  might  do  a 
great  deal  up  in  our  room  among  the  fel- 
lows." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  .  cried  Ray,  suddenly, 
while  his  eyes  dilated,  "  you  don't  mean 
that — that  you  '11  go  right  into  the  fever  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes, —  if  I  took  care  of  the  fellows 
I  should  have  to,  of  course." 

Ray  sat  motionless  for  a  few  seconds,  then 
got  up  and  came  to  Gilbert,  saying,  while 
his  voice  quivered,  •'  Please  come  home  with 
me,  old  fellow." 

But  Gilbert  was  firm.  He  drew  Ray 
down  beside  him,  saying  in  his  teiiderest 
manner,  "  I  thank  you  more  than  I  can  tell. 
You  're  the  truest  friend  a  fellow  ever  had, 
but  don't  you  see?  —  you  ought  to  go 


GILBERT'S  OFFEK.  155 

whether  1  go  or  not !  You  're  not  head-boy, 
and  you  're  just  ready  to  be  sick,  and  there's 
nothing  to  keep  you.  And  there's  another 
reason  why  I  can't  go.  I  '11  never  go  and 
leave  Perry  Kent  alone." 

And  Gilbert  looked  out  -to  where  his  pro- 
tege was  sleeping,  and  colored  at  the  bare 
thought  of  running  away  and  leaving  him  to 
meet  danger,  and  perhaps  death,  alone. 

Just  then  the  boy  raised  himself  up  and 
spoke,  startling  Ray  and  Gilbert,  who  sup- 
posed him  sound  asleep. 

"  But,  Gilbert,"  said  Perry,  "  you  needn't 
stay  one  minute  because  I'm  here.  I  want 
you  to  go  and  be  safe, —  indeed  I  do  !  Don't 
have  me  for  a  reason  for  not  going." 

Gilbert  looked  at  Ray  and  smiled  a  little, 
and  answered  Perry  with,-  "  Go  to  sleep, 
little  boy,  and  not  trouble  your  head  about 
us."  Then  bidding  Ray  to  keep  quiet,  Gil- 
bert went  off  to  see  whether  there  was  to 


156        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT  RAINFORD. 

be  any  breakfast  forthcoming.  The  house 
seemed  very  silent  and  deserted,  and  his 
footsteps  echoed  in  a  lonesome,  hollow  way, 
as  he  went  down  the  hall  to  the  kitchen. 
Mrs.  Brant,  the  housekeeper,  met  him  at 
the  door. 

tl  Breakfast,  is  it  ?  "  said  she  ;  "  yes,  it  '11 
be  ready,  shortly.  Mrs.  Winterhalter  hasn't 
forgotten  ye,  for  ah1  the  dreadful  times  we  're 
in.  She  brought  down  the  orders  for  ye  to 
have  meals  as  usual.  I  '11  ring  the  bell  at 
meal-times  just  as  always." 

In  going  back  Gilbert  met  Mrs.  Winter- 
halter  herself,  with  a  tray  of  medicines. 
Her  face  brightened  at  the  sight  of  him, 
and  she  set  her  burden  down  in  a  chair. 

"  It  does  me  good  to  see  your  fresh  face," 
said  she,  "  after  looking  upon  those  up-stairs. 
You  're  quite  well,  and  strong  as  ever  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  just  as  brightly 
as  possible  for  her  sake.  "  I  never  was  better 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  157 

or  stronger  in  my  life.     And  how  are  they 
all  up-stairs  ?  " 

The  good  lady  gave  a  grave  nod  of  her 
head,  saying,  "  Not  well  at  all.  The  doctor 
stayed  as  long  as  he  could  be  spared  from 
patients  in  town,  but  he  looks  very  sober, 
and  shakes  his  head  whenever  I  ask  for 
good  signs." 

"Have    you    plenty  of   help?"    Gilbert 
asked. 

"The  under  classes  are  well  supplied," 
Mrs.  Winterhalter  answered,  taking  up  her 
tray  and  preparing  to  go  on,  "  and  I  wish  I 
could  say  as  much  of  those  in  your  own 
room.  We  have  one  nurse  there,  but  he  can 
hardly  attend  to  so  many.  I've  been  there 
myself,  however,  most  of  the  time."  And 
the  good  lady's  face  showed  the  effects  of  it. 

"  Xow,  Mrs.  Winterhalter,"  said  Gilbert, 
cheerily,  and  at  the  same  time  taking  the 
tray  from  her  hands  and  putting  it  back  in 
the  chair,  "  will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?  " 


158    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFOBD. 

"Why — yes,"  she  answered,  surprised  at 
his  question,  and  still  more  so  at  his  action ; 
"  and  what  is  the  favor  ?  " 

"  That  you  '11  let"  me  go  into  the  Club  room 
for  a  nurse.  The  fellows  all  know  me,  and 
I  'm  sure  I  could  help  a  great  deal, —  run- 
ning up  and  down  for  medicine  and  water 
and  such  things,  if  in  no  other  way." 

Mrs.  Winterhalter's  eyes  suddenly  welled 
with  tears,  and  Gilbert  was  so  surprised  at 
this  unusual  sight  that  he  cast  his  own  upon 
-the  floor. 

Then,  taking  his  hand,  the  good  lady  said, 
with  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice,  "  My  dear 
boy,  what  shall  I  say  ?  You  are  very  dear 
to  us,"  and  then  she  stopped  to  clear  her 
voice  which  had  suddenly  grown  very 
husky  j  then  she  continued,  "  Do  you  know, 
Gilbert,  it  might  cost  you  your  life  ?  "  This 
was  said  with  an  effort. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Gilbert,  now  raising  his 
clear  gray  eyes  to  hers,"  "  there  is  danger 


My  Ji-ar  boy,  whnt  shall  T  say  ?  "         Page  158. 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  159 

of  that ;  but  I  'm  very  strong  and  very 
healthy,  —  why,  I  never  wa^  sick  in  my  life, 
Mrs.  Winterhalter  !  —  and  I  don't  think  the 
fever  would  take  hold  of  me  very  easily." 

She  looked  steadily  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment and  hesitated,  —  Gilbert  knowing  well 
enough  that  it  was  dislike  to  .put  him  in 
danger  that  kept  back  her  answer. 

"  You  needn't  hesitate,"  he  said,  smiling ; 
"  I  don't  fear  at  all." 

Then  she  said,  laying  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  with  a  look  upon  her  face  that 
haunted  him  for  a  long  time,  —  "I  accept 
your  offer.  Come  to  me  in  the  study  after 
you  've  had  your  breakfast." 

Gilbert  said,  "  Thank  you,"  and  went  on 
his  way  to  the  school-room,  w^ere  he  had 
left  Ray  and  Perry,  while  Mrs.  Winterhalter 
took  up  her  tray  and  walked  slowly  up- 
stah-s. 

Now    this    offer    of  GilDert's,    was    not 


160    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

so  easily  made  as  you  may  fancy.  The 
thought  of  so  jjoing,  had  been  in  his  heart 
since  that  Sunday  afternoon  when  first  the 
fever  entered  school.  It  was  not  at  all 
inclination  that  led  him  to  make  the  offer, 
for  he  detested  illness,  and  could  never 
bring  himself  to  endure  the  restraints  of 
a  sick-room  with  any  comfort.  Every  vein 
in  his  body  thrilled  with  warm,  healthy 
blood,  that  demanded  stir  and  action,  and 
could  but  poorly  brook  restraint  or  confine- 
ment. He  knew  that  his  self-appointed  task 
would  be  irksome  and  tiresome,  and  disa- 
greeable, to  say  nothing  of  the  danger  that 
lay  in  wait ;  but,  with  all  this  in  prospect, 
he  had  offered  himself,  and  his  services,  and 
Mrs.  Winterhalter  had  accepted  them. 

He  entered  the  school-room,  looking  twice 
as  cheerful  as  when  he  left  it  a  half-hour 
before,  and  said,  cheerily,  "  Well,  Ray  and 
Perry,  we  're  t^  have  some  breakfast  just 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  161 

as  soon  as  Mrs.  Brant's  ball  rings,  which 
must  be  shortly.  How  are  you,  Ray?  —  any 
better  than  when  you  first  woke  up  ?  " 

Ray's  eyes  were  a  little  brighter,  as  he 
answered,  "  Somewhat ;  but  what  on  earth 

V 

kept  you  so  long  ?  " 

This  was  just  what  Gilbert  would  rather 
not  have  told ;  but  thinking  that  the  truth 
would  have  to  be  revealed  soon  at  any  rate, 
he  anjpvered,  "  Well,  I  Ve  been  enlisting,  to 
tell  the  truth,  —  enlisting  in  Mrs.  Winterlial- 
ter's  army  of  nurses.  I'm  going  on  duty  di- 
rectly after  breakfast." 

Ray*  sat  looking  at  his  friend  in  blank 
hopelessness  for  a  full  minute.  Then  he 
said,  with  a  sigh,  "  Well,  1  might  as  well  bid 
you  good  by  and  go  home,  for  if  you  once 
go  into  that  room  as  nurse  that'll  be  the  last 
of  you." 

"  Xow  you're  beginning  to  talk  sensibly," 
said  Gilbert,  with  a  brave  cheeriness  ringing 


162         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

in  his  voice  ;  "  go  home,  like  a  good  fellow, 
and  you  '11  be  bright  and  well  again  in  no 
time ;  but  if  you  stay  here, —  well,  you  're 
not  so  sure  of  it  by  any  means  !  " 

"  There,  now  you  don't  -talk  sensibly,"  said 
Ray ;  "  and  I  won't  go  home.  And,"  he 
added,  with  an  attempt  at  his  old  mirthful- 
ness  which  failed  utterly  and  became  dead 
earnestness  at  the  last,  "  if  you  are  going 
into  that  danger  I'll  like  to  stay  till  the  last, 
and  so  not  have  you  die  up  there  quite 
alone." 

Gilbert  was  glad  to  hear  the  breakfast-bell 
ring,  and  went  out  to  the  dining-room",  think- 
ing that  Ray  was  outrageously  obstinate ; 
and  Ray  followed,  thinking  that  Gilbert  was 
very  unaccommodating,  and  very  reckless, 
and  altogether  an  ill-behaved  fellow.  This 
kept  them  quite  cool  toward  each  other 
during  the  short  meal,  but  when  Gilbert  rose 
to  go  to  Mrs.  Winterhalter's  study,  Ray  re- 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  163 

lented  and  exclaimed,  "  Come  back,  old  fel- 
low !     Let's  be  friends  till  the  last." 

Gilbert  came  back,  smiling  and  kind. 

"  You  '11  be  in  better  spirits,  Ray,  when  I 
come  back  this  noon,"  he  said.  "  Keep  up  a 
stout  heart,  and  don't  worry  about  me.  It's 
only  doing  duty,  and  that's  what  I  set  out 
to  do,  you  know,  last  summer.  It  mayn't 
be  pleasant,  but  it's  right  in  my  path,  some- 
how," he  said,  shaking  Ray's  hands,  "  and  — 
and  I  couldn't  feel  right  to  shove  it  aside." 

With  this  he  was  gone,  and  Ray  was  left 
to  wander  disconsolately  about  the  deserted 
school-room,  and  to  make  unavailing  at- 
tempts to  get  a  breath  of  fresh,  cool  air. 
Perry  Kent  came  in,  and  Ray  fell  to  talking 
with  him  about  their  common  friend,  and 
was  surprised  and  not  very  well  pleased,  to 
"find  that  the  boy  thought  Gilbert's  offer  of 
aid  a  duty,  which  it  belonged  to  him  to 
carry  out. 


164    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  KAINFORD. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Ray,  with  some  show 
of  indignation,  "  that  you  didn't  try  to  pre- 
vent him  from  going  in  the  least." 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  said  Perry ;  "  Gilbert 
means  to  do  his  duty,  always,  and  he 
wouldn't  want  me  to  hinder  him,  and  I 
wouldn't  want  to." 

"  Well,"  said  Ray,  "  it  may  be  his  duty, — 
I  don't  deny  that, —  but  I  think  altogether 
too  much  of  the  dear  fellow,  to  ever  send 
him  into  danger.  How  would  you  feel  if 
he  caught  his  death  there,  and  it  was  you 
who  advised  him  to  go  ?  " 

Perry  Kent  was  -silent,  though  not  shaken 
in  his  faith  of  what  it  was  Gilbert's  duty  to 
do. 

Meanwhile,  the  friend  of  these  two  was 
installed  in  his  new  position,  after  being  in- 
troduced to  his  companion,  Stratton,  who 
had  been  engaged  as  nurse  for  the  Club 
room. 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  105 

The  room  was  partially  darkened,  and  it 
was  sometime  before  Gilbert  could  distin- 
guish everything  plainly ;  then  ho  saw  a 
sight  that  made  his  heart  sink.  Gates  lay 
ill  one  corner,  Tom  Fowler  in  another,  and 
in  the  row  between  them  were  Al  Turner, 
Barry  White,  and  one  or  two  who  had  been 
brought  in  from  the  second  class's  room. 

Such  a  strong  hold  of  them  the  fever  had 
got,  that  they  lay  quite-  quiet,  save  an  occa- 
sional muttered  exclamation  and  whisper 
from  the  parched  lips  of  one  whose  mind 
wandered  in  the  vivid,  but  unreal,  world  of 
delirium. 

The  room  could  not  but  'be  close  and  op- 
pressive, and  Gilbert  began  to  feel  the  close- 
ness ana  the  deep  silence,  at  the  end  of  the 
first  half-hour. 

But  what  was  one  half-hour  compared 
with  those  that  were  to  follow,  and  that  did 
follow  ? 


166         THE   LAST   SUMilEB   AT   EAIXFORD. 

That  evening,  as  Mrs.  Wiaterhalter  sat  at 

tea  with  her  husband  in  the  unwonted  quiet 
that  had  fallen  over  the  house,  she  said, 
soberly,  and  with  a  deep  tenderness  in  her 
voice,  "  If  anything  was  needed  to  convince 
me  that  there  has  been  a  great  change  in 
Gilbert  Starr  since  last  summer  —  a  change 
that  will  grow  and  deepen  with  every  day 
that  passes  over  him  —  it  has  been  more 
than  supplied  to  me  to-day.  You  remember 
that  affair  about  the  captainship  of  his  com- 
pany last  summer,  and  how  he  was  wronged 
and  insulted  ?  "Well,  when  I  saw  how  ten- 
derly he  cared  for  those  very  ones  who 
wronged  him,  and  who  have  not  spoken  to 
him  since  that  time,  nor  of  him,  save  in 
slander, —  when  I  saw  this,  and  how  he  was 
risking  his  life  for  theirs,  I  thought  he  had 
come  very  near  to  what  the  best  of  men 
come  to  but  a  very  few  times  in  their  lives. 


GILBERT'S  OFFER.  167 

It  made  the  tears  come,  and  yet  it  made  me 
very  happy.     I  pray  that  God  will  spare  him 
to  us  ! " 
"  Amen,"  said  Mr.  Winterhalter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  SHADOW   OP  DEATH. 

OH,  but  those  grew  to  be  fearful  days 
toward  the  last, —  rainless,  parched  and 
scorching,  and  full  of  fear  and  death.  Thick, 
smoky  veils  wrapped  the  hills  about,  and 
settled  on  all  the  far  horizon,  through  which 
the  sun  rose  up  blood-red  and  sank  away  at 
night  —  hot  and  lurid. 

The  town  was  half-deserted.  The  fever 
had  driven  away  all  those  who  could  flee 
to  a  safer  locality ;  shops  and  stores  were 
closed,  and  business  had  dwindled  down  to 
the  trade  which  provision  merchants  drove  ; 
and  of  the  throngs  of  drays  and  carriages 
that  once  filled  the  streets,  all  had  vanished, 

168 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.        169 

save  the  doctors'  gigs  which  rolled  by  night 
and  day  along  the  silent  ways,  and  that  slow- 
moving  carriage  which  bore  the  dead  out  to 
the  burnt,  brown  cemetery  on  Riverside. 

The  river  shrank  away,  and  sent  up  noi- 
some smells  from  its  black  ooze  to  burden 
the  already  stifling  air.  No  clear,  life-giving 
breezes  floated  up  from  the  sea.  The 
heavens  were  as  brass,  and  the  earth  like  hot 
iron  to  the  feet  of  men. 

One  night  the  bells  cried  out  a  wild  alarm, 
and  a  ruddy  flame  burst  up  into  the  night, 
and  glared  over  the  stricken  town,  and  into 
many  a  window  where  the  sick  were  moan- 
ing and  the  happier  dead  nesting ;  and  there 
were  hardly  strong  men  enough  left  to  ex- 
tinguish the  fierce  destroyer  that  threatened 
by  day  and  night.  The  smoke  of  this  burning 
settled  down  and  wrapped  the  town  in  a 
thicker,  heavier  gloom,  than  ever.  Oh,  for 
rain  !  —  rain  plentiful,  powerful  and  saving ! 


170        THE  LAST   SUMMER   AT  RAINFORD. 

There  had  not,  as  yet,  been  a  death  at  Mr. 
"Winterhalter's.  Across  the  river,  at  Pro- 
fessor Rotfi's,  two  boys  closed  their  eyes  on. 
one  stifling  night,  forever ;  but  at  Mr.  Win- 
terhalter's they  had  had  the  best  and  kindest 
of  care,  and  the  most  faithful  of*  attention. 
Yet  several  lay  hovering  -betwixt  life  and 
death,  in  a  sleep  that  it  was  by  no  means 
certain  they  would  ever  awaken  from. 

Gilbert  was  at  his  post,  a  little  worn  and 
weary  with  the  long  strain  upon  his  ener- 
gies, but  otherwise  quite  his  own  active, 
buoyant  self.  The  fever  had  not  harmed 
him,  and  he  had  not  had  a  symptom  of  the 
dreaded  disease,  fgr  all  his  long,  close  con- 
finement. Ray  had  dragged  himself  around 
day  after  day,  long  after  he  ought  to  have 
been  abed,  and  at  last  came  to  Gilbert  one 
morning,  with  the  fever  shining  in  his  eyes 
and  burning  in  his  veins. 

"  0,  Ray  ! "  Gilbert  cried,  as  soon  as  he 
saw  his  friend ;  "  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  " 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.        171 

Ray  was  humble  and  penitent  enough. 

"  I  know  !  "  he  said.  "  I'd  ought  to  Ve 
gone, —  I  wish  I  had!  But  it's  too  late, 
now :  and —  and  if  I  should  get  low,  old 
fellow,  I  wish  you'd  send  for  mother.  But 
don't  unless  I  do,  for  she'd  catch  the  fever." 

He  went  to  bed,  and  Gilbert  Avatched  him 
slowly  sinking  down  into  unconsciousness, 
as  the  rest  had  done,  with  a  heavy  heart,  It 
seemed  such  a  strange  and  fearful  thing 
to  get  no  answer  whenever  he  called  his 
friend's  name,  to  receive  no  attention  when 
he  stroked  his  forehead  and  clustering  hair, 
to  be  looked  upon  by  Ray's  shining  eyes 
with  no  light  of  recognition  in  them. 

This,  and  the  sight  of  those  white,  fever- 
wasted  faces  about  him,  was  what  wore 
heaviest  upon  Gilbert's  power  of  endurance. 
He  could  endure  the  physical  labor  and  the 
fatigue  of  constant  watching,  better  than 
the  awful  dragging  of  the  weary  days,  full 


172        THE  LAST   SUMMER  AT  BAINFOP.D. 

of  sights  and  sounds  that  seemed  to  fairly 
burn  themselves  upon  his  heart,  so  that  it 
was  full  of  pain  and  almost  despair. 

Two  or  three  days  after  Ray  gave  up, 
Perry  Kent  began  to  grow  listless  and 
heavy-eyed.  Gilbert  had  been  fearing  it  all 
the  time,  and  detected  the  first  symptoms  of 
the  coming  fever  in  his  protege.  His  face 
was  almost  despairing,  as  he  went  to  tell 
Mrs.  Winterhalter  that  «the  fever  had  fairly 
got  a  hold  of  the  little  boy.  The  good  lady 
did  her  utmost  to  console  him,  saying, 

"Very  likely  it  will  prove  only  a  light 
attack,  and  soon  over.  I  will  have  a  bed 
made  for  him  in  the  school-room,  so  that  he 
can  be  quiet  and  comfortable,  and  where  I 
can  have  an  eye ^ upon  him,  myself.'7  This 
comforted  Gilbert  somewhat,  but  the  boy's 
illness -was  another  cause  of  fearfulness  and 
anxiety. 

Long,  long  days   followed.    Not  a  death 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.        173 

in  the  house,  as  yet,  and  the  doctor  thought 
there  were  some  faint  signs  of  mending,  on 
the  part  of  those  who  were  first  taken  with 
the  fever.  Perry,  to  Gilbert's  joy,  did  not 
seem  to  be  very  ill,  though  sometimes 
strangely  stupid  and  insensible ;  and  the 
boy  had  Mrs.  Winterhalter's  best  care,  and 
Gilbert  was  quite  at  ease  about  him.  But 
poor  Ray  did  not  seem  to  mend  in  the  least, 
and  each  day  grew  more  wan  and  white, 
and  more  like  the  ghost  of  his  former  self.. 
Gilbert's  heart  grew  heavy,  and  he  thought 
of  Ray's  last  injunction,  and  was  in  doubt 
whether  to  send  for  the  gentle  mother  or 
not.  He  decided  to  wait  a  little  longer, — 
just  as  long  as  he  dared. 

These  were  the  hardest  days  for  him. 
Good  Mrs.  Winterhalter  saw  how  weary  his 
face  looked  as  he  came  down  to  his  meals, 
which  she  made  him  eat  in  the  study,  instead 
'of  the  great  solitary  dining-room,  and  never 


174    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

failed  to  speak  a  word  of  courage  and  conso- 
lation,—  real,  hearty,  vital  words  that  did 
Gilbert  good.  But  she  did  not  offer  to  re- 
lease him  from  his  post  —  how  could  she  ?  — 
and  he  did  not  wish  her  to.  He  filled  a 
place  in  the  sick-room  which  could  be  filled 
so  well  by  no  one  else,  and  help  and  aid 
were  scarcer  than  precious  stones.  She 
could  not  spare  his  aid,  and  he  never  would 
have  accepted  such  an  offer,  could  she  have 
made  it.  Whatever  shrinking  or  despair 
there  was  in  his  heart,  not  a  thought  of  flee- 
ing from  his  post  found  shelter  there. 

So  the  sun  rose  morning  after  morning, 
and  wheeled  over  into  the  west,  and  sank 
through  lurid  vapor  to  its  rest,  and  long 
stifling,  solitary  nights  followed. 

On  one  of  these  evenings,  Gilbert  had 
pushed  open  the  blinds  of  the  window  by 
Ray's  bedside,  and  sat  there,  trying  to  feel 
a  cool  waft  of  air  upon  his  face.  A  little 


THE  SHAlfbW   OF   DEATH.  .      175 

* 

light  shone  in  from  the  west,  just  enough  to 
reveal  the  white  faces  of  the  sleeping  sick 
around  him  ;  and  upon  Ray's  countenance  it 
fell,  making  it  very  pure  and  fair  with  its 
brown  locks  clustering  all  about  it,  like  the 
angel's  face  in  the  painting  which  hung  in 
Mrs.  Winterhalter's  parlor. 

Gilbert  looked,  tenderly  stroked  the  white, 
unconscious  forehead,  and  felt  as  if  he  should 
choke  with  pent-up  tears.  Hay  die  ?  —  pass 
away  so  young  and  bright  and  full  of  life 
into  the  great  Hereafter?  Die,  and  leave 
him  alone  ?  He  hastily  put  his  own  face 
down  beside  the  unconscious  one  to  smother 
the  groan  that  came  up.  "  0  Ray  !  Ray  ! 
how  can  you  die  and  be  like  a  stone  and  lost 
to  me  ?  He  felt  as  if  he  wanted  to  get  his 
friend  in  his  arms  and  hold  him  back  —  back 
from  the  grave  that  he  was  slipping  into. 
But  when  he  had  got  quieter  and  remem- 
bered the  uselessness  of  such  giving  away 


176         THE   LAST   SUMMERS'  AT   RAINFORD. 

-* 

to  grief,  and  the  need  of  keeping  himself 
as  cheerful  and  buoyant-hearted  as  possible, 
he  turned  to*  the  window, —  carefully  turn- 
ing the  blinds  so  that  the  light  might  not  fall 
so  squarely  upon  the  face  that  he  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  look  upon.  Before  him  was 
the  dully-glimmering,  half-deserted  town,  si- 
lent as  those  ruined  cities  of  the  past,  where 
only  beasts  prowl  and  bats  flit.  Silent,  too, 
was  all  the  wide  land,  as  if  death  had  left 
not  an  inhabitant  therein.  God's  hand  was 
very  heavy  upon  the  earth. 

But  as  Gilbert  sat  looking  out  upon  the 
desolation,  the  thought  of  what  he  had  read 
to  Ray  and  Perry  that  Sunday  afternoon 
when  first  the  fever  came,  flashed  quickly 
upon  him, —  the  same  thought  with  which 
David  had  comforted  himself  in  affliction : 
"  But  thou,  0  Lord,  shalt  endure  forever ; 
and  thy  remembrance  unto  all  generations." 
Though  pestilence  and  death  were  on  the 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.       177 

earth,  God  sat  above  all  with  love  and  care 
and  remembrance  that  could  never  fail. 
There  was  comfort  in  the  thought.  He  was 
to  endure  forever, —  never  passing  away, 
never  failing,  never  forgetting.  Whatever 
ruin  or  death  darkened  the  earth,  whatever 
trouble  blasted,  however  thickly  mists  of 
evil  and  danger  gathered,  above  all  He 
reigned  —  a  mighty  fortress  of  strength, 
immutable,  and  best  of  all,  a  tender  Friend. 
Gilbert  sat  very  quietly,  w.ith  a  strong  sense 
of  something  sure  and  unfailing  to  cling  to, 
making  his  heart  lighter.  It  was  so  good 
to  know  that  the  poor  smitten  earth  was 
under  Death's  control  only  through  the  Lord's 
sufferance,  and  that  it  was  not  drifting 
through  this  terror  of  plague  and  death  with- 
out-a  sure  hand  to  guide  it. 

Just  then,  the  bells  struck  out  the  hour 
in  long-drawn,  wavering  tolls  that  echoed 
up  and  down  the  river,  and  over  the  empty 


178         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

town.  Gilbert  heard  tho  piazza-door  open 
and  close,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  doc- 
tor's dim  figure  as  he  went  across  the  lawn 
to  his  gig.  Then  came  some  quick,  but  soft 
steps  along  the  lower  hall  and  hurriedly  up 
the  stairs,  at  which  Gilbert  wondered  some- 
what, as  Mrs.  Winterhalter's  step  had  been 
quite  slow  and  weary  of  late.  But  she  it 
was,  and  she  stopped  to  light  the  lamp  in 
the  hall  without,  for  it  was  very  dark  there. 
Then  she  beckoned  Gilbert  to  come  out  to 
her,  which  he  did.  They  stood  looking  at 
each  other  for  two  or  three  long  seconds,  in 
which  Gilbert's  heart  began  to  beat  very 
fast,  at  something  which  he  perceived  in  the 
kind  face  before  him. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Winterhalter, 
with  a  great  effort  to  be  calm,  "  can  you  bear 
what  I  am  to  tell  you  ? —  even  if —  if  it  is 
very  bad  news  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Gilbert,  suddenly,  putting  his 
hand  to  his  head,  "  do  you  mean  —  " 


THE  SHADOW  OP  DEATH.       179 

He  could  get  no  further,  but  stood  looking 
at  her  in  such  a  bewildered  way,  as  if  he 
had  been  stunned,  that  the  good  lady  quick- 
ly took  his  hand,  saying, 

"  Bear  up,  Gilbert.  It's  God's  doing. 
And  you  had  better  come  at  once." 

He  followed  mechanically,  holding  on  to 
the  balusters  all  the  way  down  stairs,  and 
feeling  so  dizzy  and  shocked,  that  every- 
thing, at  times,  seemed  to  swim  around  him. 
They  passed  softly  into  the  great  dimly- 
lighted  school-room,  with  the  little  white  bed 
in  the  center,  and  by  which  Mrs.  Brant  and 
Mr.  Win-terhalter  were  standing ;  and  they 
were  not  any  too  soon.  Perry  had  just 
opened  his  great,  clear  eyes  —  all  the  fever 
and  delirium  gone  out  of  them  —  and  at 
once  they  rested  on  his  old  protector.  Gil- 
bert bent  close  over  him. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  boy,  very  faintly,  but  very 
delightedly,  "  you,  Gilbert !  You  've  been 


180    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  BAINFORD. 

gone  a  great  while.  May  I  get  hold  of  your 
hand  — just  as  I  used  to  ?  "  Instantly  Per- 
ry's hand  was  lying  in  his  protector's,  as  it 
had  so  often  lain  in  those  bright  and  glad- 
some days  of  last  summer.  Perry  smiled 
with  satisfaction.  "  I  've  been  sick,"  he  said, 
looking  up  into  his  friend's  face ;  "  but  I'm  — 
I  'm  almost  well  —  now." 

Gilbert's  figure  was  shaking  from  head  to 
foot,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  must 
cry  out  with  the  pain  and  anguish  that  were 
in  his  heart.  Just  then,  Perry  tugged  a 
little  at  his  hand,  but  said  nothing, —  only 
smiling  upon  his  protector  with  such  love 
and  gratitude  as  no  words  could1  express. 
Then,  after  catching  a  little  for  breath,  he 
drew  a  long,  peaceful  sigh,  and  was  dead. 

The  truth  did  not  reveal  itself  to  Gilbert 
at  first,  and  he  stood  —  with  his  protege's 
hands  clinging  to  his, —  waiting  for  those 
clear  eyes  to  open  again.  But  chancing  to 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.        181 

look  up,  he   saw    the  tears  brimming    Mrs. 
Winterhalter's  eyes,  and   read  the   truth  in 
her  face.      Shaking   with   his    pent-up    pain 
and  grief,  he  dropped  down  upon  the  little 
white  cot,  and  tried  to  smother  the  storm  of 
sobs    in    the    pillow.      Mrs.   Brant    walked 
quickly  away,  and  there  were  only  the  Win- 
terhalters'  left,  and   they  stood  a  little  way 
off  till  their   head-boy's  burst  of  grief  had 
spent   its  first  force.     Then   the  good   lady 
took  Gilbert's  hand  and  led  him  away  —  he 
struggling  a  little  at  the  door  to  go  back  — 
to  the  study,  and  to  one  of  the.  great  easy- 
chairs.      She    tenderly    smoothed    his    hair, 
sat  by  his  chair  a  little  while,  still  holding 
his  hand,  but   said  not  a  word  to  stop  the 
great  sobs    that   shook   him    from  head    to 
foot.      Then   she    went   away,  leaving   him 
alone. 

What  he  endured  here,  in  the  quiet  of  the 
study,  you  may  hardly  know.     It  was  his 


182    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

first  heavy  grief,  the  first  time  that  death 
had  taken  anything  that  he  loved,  the  first 
time  that  the  wings  of  God's  angel  had 
ever  brushed  so  near  him,  overshadowing 
his  heart  with  its  dark  wings.  And  the 
stroke  had  come  very  suddenly  and  unlock- 
ed for. 

When  Mrs.  "Wintcrhalter  returned,  he  was 
still  sitting  in  the  easy-chair,  his  hands  hid- 
ing his  face,  and  did  not  stir  or  look  up  when 
she  entered.  Putting  her  hands  upon  his 
head,  she  said  in  her  soft,  mellow  voice,  "  ''In 
my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions  :  if 
it  were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you.  I 
go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you. ' ;  Gilbert  was 
silent,  but  the  tears  trickled  down  through 
his  finge"rs.  Then  she  said,  her  voice  grTnv- 
ing  clear  and  steady  with  every  word, 
"  '  And  I  will  pray  the  Father,  and  he  shall 
give  you  another  Comforter,  that  he  may 
abide  with  you  forever ; '  '*  and  again,  "  1 1 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.       183 

will  not  leave  you  comfortless :  I  will  come 
to  you. ' " 

"0,    Mrs.    Winterhalter,"    Gilbert    cried 
then,  choking  so  that  he  could  hardly  speak, 
"  you  don't  know  what  the  boy  was  to  me  !  " 
"  I  do   know/'  she    said,  soothingly ;  "  he 
was  much  nearer  than  a  brother.     You  have 
always  been  his  protector,  and  there  was  a 
different  affection  between   you  than  exists 
between  brothers.     His  last  smile  gave  you 
unutterable  thanks  for  it  all."     Gilbert  wept. 
"  And  since   God  has  taken   him  to   Him- 
self,"  she    continued,   "  we    have   no    need 
to  weep.     Perry's  last  breath  on  earth  was 
a  happy  one,  and  you  have  the  thought  to 
comfort  you  that   his   last   year   was   made 
jp-ight  and  pleasant  by  yourself.     His  happi- 
ness lay  in  your  power,  and  you  have  kept 
the  trust  well." 

"It's   not  that  —  not  he   that  I'm   crying 
for,"  said   Gilbert,   tremulously;  "it's   more 


184    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAIXFOED. 

for  my  own  loss,  I  think, —  and  that  —  that 
all  those  happy  times  are  past,  and  I  can 
never  see  him  again,  or  —  or  hear  him  call 
me." 

Mr.  Winterhalter  came  to  the  study-door 
just  then  to  call  his  wife,  and  she  went  away 
leaving  Gilbert  alone  again,  and  this  time 
to  be  undisturbed  till  the  hot,  lurid  dawn 
broke  over  the  land. 


I 


CHAPTER  XL 

GRIEVING    FOR    TWO. 


T  was   well  for  Gilbert  Starr   that  heavy 


duties  and  the  wants  of  the  sick  prevent- 
ed him  from  sitting  down  to  mourn  over  his 
loss.  The  blow  struck  him  heavily,  and  at 
a  time  when  he  was  poorly  prepared  to  bear 
it^t  was  good  for  him,  therefore,  that  neces- 
sity compelled  an  immediate  return  to  the 
cares  and  duties  of  the  sick-room.  So,  on 
this  «ad  morning,  when  the  red  light  was 
sifting  through  the  shutters  into  the  dark- 
ened study,  he  began  to  sigh  and  shiver  at 
the  sight  of  it,  remembering  how  the  routine 

of  weary  watching  and  care  must  go  on,  for 
185 


186    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

all  that  a  little  figure  lay  silent  and  dead  in 
the  great  lonely  school-room. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  ho  left  the  easy- 
chair  in  which  Jie  had  sat  that  long,  long 
night,  and  rose  up  with  a  determination  to 
go  back  to  his  work  which  he  knew  hud 
been  left  too  long.  It  took  all  the  energy 
and  will  of  which  he  was  possessed,  to  en- 
able him  to  do  this.  He  longed  to  sit  all  day 
in  the  dark,  quiet  study  —  away  from  all 
annoyance  and  all  interruption,  and  have  his 
sorrow  and  his  mourning  all  to  himself. 

But  as  this  could  not  be,  he  tried  to  put 
down  this  longing  and  go  about  his  duty  as 
he  ought.  But  this  was  a  hard  thing  to  do. 
Then  he  remembered  poof  Ray,  whom  he 
had  left  so  low  and  unconscious,  ari<f  this 
recollection  of  his  friend  startled  him  into  a 
quicker  hastening  from  the  soothing  silence 
of  the  study.  He  came  slowly  out  into  the 
hall,  and  there  met  Mrs.  Winterhalter  look- 


GEIEVING   FOE   TWO.  187 

ing  pale  and  worn,  but  with  the  placid  smile 
upon  her  face  which  always  came  there, 
whether  the  face  were  fresh  or  tired. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said ;  "  have  you 
rested  at  all?  "  But  a  look  at  Gilbert's  face 
was  a  sufficient  answer,  and  she  hastily 
added,  "  But  this  will  not  do  at  all.  You 
must  rest,  or  you  will  be  ill.  You  had  bet- 
ter go  back  to  the  study." 

Gilbert  longed  to  assent  to  this,  but  mak- 
ing an  effort  he  said,  "  How  can  I  ?  What 
will  become  of  Ray  and  the  rest  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  your  place,"  said  the  good 
lady,  cheerfully. 

"  No,"  Gilbert  answered,  resolutely,  "  I 
will  take  my  place  —  pretty  quick.  And  — 
and  may  I  go  into  the  school-room  ?  " 
*  Mrs.  Winterhalter  hesitated.  "  Yes,  if  you 
think  it  best,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  but  do  not 
stay  long.  •When  you  come  back,  your 
breakfast  will  be  waiting  for  you,  here." 


188    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

And  then,  as  if  she  thought'  Gilbert  needed 
something  more,  she  laid  her  hand  gently 
upon  his  arm,  saying,  "  Don't  forget  God,  my 
dear.  In  Him  is  the  strength, —  nowhere 
else." 

Passing  on  with  lips  that  would  quiver 
in  spite  of  their  owner's  strong  will,  Gilbert 
left  the  good  lady  and  entered  the  dim, 
shaded  school-room.  He  went  straight  to 
the  little  white  cot  where  Perry  Kent  lay. 
So  calm,  so  still,  so  motionless  —  with  the 
rare,  grateful  smile  on  his  lips  —  with  such 
unutterable  peace  expressed  in  every  curve 
of  the  pleasant  face,  he  lay,  that  Gilbert 
did  not  weep,  but  sat  down,  thinking  that 
those  two  little  feet  had  found  a  rest  which 
was  never  to  be  broken. 

It  was  not  strange  that  he  went  back  ^;o 
that  long  summer  day,  when  the  little  boy 
spent  his  first  hour  at  school^and  when  ho 
was  thrown,  in  a  manner,  upon  his  protec- 


GRIEVING   FOR   TWO.  189 

tion.  How  Gilbert  blessed  that  day  !  and 
how  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks  when  he 
thought  of  some  which  had  passed  since  that 
time  !  Now  they  were  all  ended  —  the  little 

life  was  finished  —  and  he  must  go  on  with- 

. 

out  its  cheery  presence  henceforth,  forever. 

So  long  was  he  gone,  that  Mrs.  Winterhal-. 
ter  came  tapping  at  the  door,  calling  him, 
softly.  Gilbert  came  out,  his  gray  eyes  a- 
brirn,  and  his  lips  pressed  tightly  together 
•to  keep  them  still,  and  went  into  the  study 
and  made  a  show  of  eating  breakfast,  and 
then  went  up  to  his  work,  not  having  dared 
to  trust  himself  to  speak  a  word. 

He  came  up  to  the  sick-chamber  with  a 
heavy  heart.  Strattou,  the  nurse,  met  him 
with  a  sympathetic  look  and  advised  him  to 
go  back  and  take  one  day's  rest,  at  least. 
But  Gilbert  was  firm,  and  went  up  to  Ray's 
bedside  to  be  startled  by  something  that 
was  in  Rav's  face. 


190    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

"  Oh,  Stratton."  said  Gilbert,  quickly,  "  is 
he  worse  ?  " 

The  nurse  knew  what  friends  the  two 
were,  and  tried  to  evade  an  answer.  But 
Gilbert  would  know  the  truth,  and  Stratton 
at  last  confessed  that  the  doctor  had  pro- 
nounced Ray  very  much  worse.  Gilbert 
looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  sink  down  at 
first ;  then  he  rallied  and  said,  "  If  that  is 
so,  I  must  telegraph.  I  promised  him  I 
would  when  he  was  first  taken." 

"  But  it  will  do  no  good,"  said  Stratton ; 
"  and  it's  a  long  way  to  the  office." 

"  Of  course  it  will  do  him  no  good,"  said 
Gilbert,  "  but  it  may  others,  and  1  promised. 
Can  you  manage  till  I  go  and  return  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Sratton,  "  I  '11  try." 

Gilbert    hastily   returned    to   the    study, 

where  the  Winterhalters  were  finishing  their 

breakfast.     He  found  his  hat  —  all  the  time 

keeping    his    face    turned    away    from    his 


GRIEVING   FOR  TWO.  191 

friends  —  and  started  for  the  door.  But 
Mrs.  "Winterhaltej's  quick  eyes  perceived 
that  something  new  had  occurred  to  disturb 
him,  and  followed  to  the  door. 

"  What  is  it,  Gilbert  ?  "  she  said. 

Gilbert  turned  his  white,  despairing  face 
toward  her,  as  he  answered,  "  Ray  is  worse. 
I'm  going  to  telegraph ! "  and  then  hurried 
away  without  another  word. 

He  was  wise  enough  to  take  the  road  to 
town,  instead  of  the  winding  river-path,  for 
had  he  gone  that  way,  every  step  would 
have  been  saddened  by  the  haunting  of  a 
little  figure,  that  once  had  traveled  the 
grassy  path,  in  eager  haste  to  save  him  from 
doing  a  wrong.  Even  as  he  paced  along 
the  dusty,  glowing  road,  the  recollection  of 
that  splendid,  crimson  evening  and  all  its 
many  event?,  came  vividly  back  to  him. 
Now,  there  was  no  coolness  nor  fragrance  in 
the  earth,  neither  was  there  any  little  eager 


192    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

figure,  and  the  crimson  glare  was  the  most 
hateful  color  that  ever  his  eyes  rested  upon. 

Sad  and  sorrowful  he  came  into  the  streets 
of  the  stricken  town, —  his  feet  the  only 
feet  that  made  echo  there.  The  telegraph- 
office  was  in  a  corner  of  the  railway-station. 
Of  course  Gilbert  remembered,  as  he  came 
into  the  great  building,  how  Ray,  Perry,  and 
himself  had  met  there  only  a  few  short 
weeks  before,  and  from  thence  walked  home- 
ward in  the  amber  evening-light,  with  no 
thought  of  what  was  so  soon  to  follow. 
Now  one  was  already  silent  under  death's 
touch,  and  the  other  —  Gilbert  hurried  into 
the  office  to  rid  himself  of  any  more  think- 
ing about  the  matter. 

The  operator  was  an  elderly  man  with  a 
grave  face,  become  so,  perhaps,  since  the 
town  had  been  fever-stricken,  and  almost  his 
only  duty  was  to  send  sad  messages  over  the 
wires ;  but,  as  will  always  be  the  case  when 


GRIEVING   FOR   TWO.  193 

the  heart  is  not  a  stone,  this  face  had  a  sym- 
pathy and  tenderness  in  it,  that  did  Gilbert 
good. 

"  Your  message,"  said  this  grave  face,  as 

if  it  understood  all    about  Gilbert's  hurrv. 

• 

Gilbert  dictated  it,  gave  the  necessary  direc- 
tions, and  leaned  against  the  wall  listening 
to  the  clicking  of  the  instrument,  while  his 
own  thoughts  traveled  much  quicker  than 
the  lightning-flashed  message  to  the  far-off 
gentle  lady,  who  was  to  receive  it. 

''  Will  you  wait  for  a  reply  ? "  said  the 
operator,  pointing  to  a  leather-covered  chair 
in  the  corner.  Gilbert  had  not  thought  so 
far  as  this,  but  after  a  minute  of  reflection 
decided  to  wait,  and  sat  down,  feeling,  for 
the  first  time,  all  his  weariness  and  fatigue.  t 
People  passed  in  and  out  —  weary-eyed,  sad- 
faced  people,  most  of  them  —  sending  their 
ill-tidings  and  receiving  replies,  Gilbert 
found  that  his  was  not  the  only  aching  heart 
in  Rainford  by  any  means. 


194         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   EAIXFORD. 

It  seemed  a  long,  long  time  that  he  had 

- 

to  wait,  and  as  if  everybody  was  more  for- 
tunate than  himself  in  getting  answers  to 
their  messages ;  and  his  heart  and  head 
ached  so  wretchedly  that  he  put  his  face  in 
his  hands  and  tried  to  shut  out  the  sharp, 
disagreeable  clicking  of  the  operator's  in- 
strument. He  was  presently  aroused  by  a 
touch  upon  his  shoulder,  and  then  a  Scrap 
of  paper  was  thrust  into  his  hand  without  a 
word,  and  the  operator  walked  back  to  his 
chair.  With  a  gentle  beating  heart  he  read 
this : 

"  To  GILBERT  STARR,  RAINFORD  : 

Ray's  mother  is  ill, —  cannot  break  the 
news  to  her.  Do  the  best  you  can,  and 
telegraph  again  to-night. 

W.  H.  HUNTER." 

It  seemed  to  Gilbert  as  if  everything  had 
conspired  to  crush  him  down  with  evil  news. 


GRIEVING   FOR   TWO.  195 

With  his  head  fairly  swimming,  he  got  up 
and  walked  blindly  toward  the  door,  and 
there  ran  against  Captain  Forrest  of  the, 
Riverside  school. 

t  "  Why,"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  "  is  this 
you,  Starr?  Good  heavens  !  what  ails  you  ?  " 
Gilbert  could  not  say  a  word,  in  spite  of  his 
strong  effort  to  do  so,  but  stood  looking 
down  at  the  stone  steps  through  glimmering 
tears.  "  You  're  ill !  "  said  Forrest,  making 
Gilbert  lean  against  him  ;  "  you  oughtn't  to 
be  so  far  from  home  in  this  fix.  Have  you 
sent  bad  news,  or  have  you  just  got  some  ?  " 
"  Both,"  said  Gilbert,  with  an  effort,  and 
standing  quite  straight  upon  his  own  feet. 

"  Oh,  but  these  are  dreadful  times  !  "  said 
Forrest,  quickly.  "  But  we  're  getting  bet- 
ter of  the  fever  on  our  side  of  the  river. 
I  've  been  through  the  whole  of  it,  helping 
take  care  of  the  fellows,  but  it  hasn't 
touched  me,  yet.  So  you  have,  too  ?  " 


196    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gilbert,  mechanically. 
"  I  thought  so  !     I  knew  well  enough  that 
.you   wouldn't   run   away,  and   that's  partly 
what  put  me  up  to  doing  my  duty, —  think- 
ing of  you  at  your  post  over  on  the  other 
side.     But  you  've  been  more  fortunate  than 
we,  for  while  you  've  lost  none,  we  've  lost 
three." 

"  Perry  Kent  died  last  night,"  said  Gil- 
bert, wondering  at  his  own  calmness  ;  "  that 
was  the  first  death." 

Forrest  started,  exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  "  and 
took  a  quick,  sidelong  look  at  Gilbert's  pale 
face,  thinking,  "  Now  I  know  what  troubles 
you.  Poor  fellow  !  "  Then,  as  there  did  not 
seem  to  be  anything  more  to  say,  and  as 
Gilbert  was  in  a  hurry,  he  took  his  depar- 
ture, and  left  Captain  Forrest  standing  on 
the  steps  wishing  that  he  had  tried  to  say 
something  to  comfort  his  friend. 

Gilbert  never  could  recall  the  events  of 


GRIEVING   FOR   TWO.  197 

that  homeward  walk  ;  but  he  got  there  some- 
how, and  feeling  crushed  and  benumbed,  took 
himself  up   to    the   sick-chamber    with   the" 
message  still  crumpled  up  in  his  hand. 

Stratton  mercifully  forbore  to  ask  any 
questions,  and  Gilbert  went  to  his  work  of 
giving  medicines,  bringing  cool  water  and 
fresh  pillows,  and  when  he  had  been  his 
round,  sat  down  by  Ray's  bedside  holding 
his  thin,  white  hand  in  his  own.  "  Thank 
God  !  "  Gilbert  thought ;  "  he  can't  suffer 
what  I  do.  He  never  '11  know  that  his  moth- 
er was  too  ill  to  be  by  him  at  the  last, —  he 
can't  miss  her."  But  if  he  should  awaken  ? 

Gilbert  was   almost  ready  to   pray  that  his 

I 
friend  might  die  in  unconsciousness,  that  the 

mother's  gentle  presence  and  loving  eyes 
might  not  be  keenly  missed.  He  knew  what 
agony  it  would  be  for  Ray  to  die  without 
seeing  her.  "  0  Ray  !  0  my  friend  !  —  my 
friend  !  "  he  cried  out  in  his  heart.  "  What 


198  .  THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFOED. 

shall  I  do  ?     0,  God,  help  me!  help  me!  — 
teach  me  what  to  do  !  " 

The  forenoon  wore  away,  and  Mrs.  "Winter- 
halter  came  up  to  call  him  to  dinner,  fearing 
that  otherwise  he  would  not  come.  She 
was  much  concerned  at  the  haggard  look 
that  had  come  into  his  face  since  morning. 

"  Gilbert,"  she  said,  resolutely,  "  this  can 
go  on  no  longer.  "We  must  try  to  do  with- 
out your  help  up-stairs,  for  it's  making  you 
ill !  " 

To  which,  Gilbert  replied,  "  I  wouldn't 
leave  now,  for  all  the  world.  I  shall  not 
till  it's  all  over  with  poor  Hay.  Then  — 
then,  it  seems  to  me,  I'd  —  I'd  like  to  lie 
down  and  die,  too." 

"  Hush,"  said  the  good  lady.  "  Now  I  'm 
going  to  lay  you  under  commands.  You 
shall  have  your  dinner,  and  then  lie  down 
for  a  two-hours'  rest  on  the  sofa  in  the  study. 
I  will  watch  beside  Ray,  myself,  and  call  you 


GRIEVING   FOR  T\VO.  199 

if  there  is  the  slightest  change  for  the 
worse."  She  did  not  ask  him  whether  he 
assented  to  this  arrangement,  but,  as  she 
said,  laid  him  under  commands. 

After  he  had  eaten  his  dinner,  and  Mrs. 
Brant  had  carried  away  the  things,  Mrs. 
Winterhalter  darkened  the  study,  fixed  the 
sofa-pillow  most  comfortably,  and  saw  that 
her  command  to  lie  down  was  obeyed  ;  and, 
though  Gilbert  did  not  suspect  her  presence, 
lingered  till  she  saw  that  he  was  sound 
asleep. 

The  little  study-clock,  in  striking  four, 
awoke  him.  He  started  up,  dismayed  to  find 
what  a  long  time  he  had  been  sleeping. 
Then,  just  as  if  they  had  been  waiting  for  a 
stir  within,  some  one  without  the  door 
tapped  softly^  and  then  entered.  It  was 
Mr.  Winterhalter,  this  time. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  as  brightly  as  it  was  possi- 
ble to  look,  "  you  are  refreshed,  I  hope. 


200    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAESFOKD. 

Mrs.  Winterhalter  says  that  Ray  is  no  worse, 
and  that  you  are  to  take  a  turn  or  two  on 
the  piazza,  before  coining  up-stairs." 

Gilbert  wondered  a  little  at  this  require- 
ment, for  the  piazza  was  in  the  full,  hot  glare 
of  the  burning  day,  but  complied,  thinking 
there  must  be  some  reason  for  it,  after  all. 
And  there  was. 

A  great  change  had  come  across  the  sky. 
Gilbert  felt  it  the  moment  his-  feet  touched 
the  piazza.  The  angry,,  crimson  glare  was 
gone,  and  a  faint  waft  of  cool  air  actually 
brushed  his  cheek.  All  the  glowing,  cop- 
pery haze  that  had  filled  the  firmament,  was 
changed  to  dun  color,  and  hinted  of  rain. 
Feeling  this  delicious  change,  Gilbert  sat 
down  on  the  steps,  rejoicing  whenever  a 
stray  zephyr  lifted  the  hair  on  his  forehead, 
or  cooled  his  cheek.  Oh,  if  it  might  only 
rain  !  —  only  rain  ! 

The   clouds   darkened,  and   against  them 


GRIEVING   FOR  TWO.  201 

the  town  stood  up  in  outline  of  roof  and 
spire.  Gilbert  looked  at  it,  thinking  how 
many  times  he  had  seen  the  sun  dip  down 
and  dye  the  whole  like  a  city  of  gold,  and 
feeling  that  the  wide  earth  had  lost  some- 
tiling  out  of  it  that  was  most  dear,  and 
precious  to  himself,  and  that  it  could  never 
be  the  same  happy,  happy  earth  again. 

From  one  of  the  tall  spires  —  the  spire  of 
the  church  which  all  the  school  attended  — 
a  bell  swung  out  a  wavering,  sweet  clamor 
that  lasted  a  few  minutes  —  Gilbert  paying 
little  thought  to  it  —  and  then,  after  it  had 
been  silent  a  little  space,  a  long-drawn  toll 
floated  across  the  distance  and  seemed  to 
strike  right  upon  his  heart,  it  came  so  sud- 
denly. That  was  for  Perry's  first  year.  Be- 
fore this  sweet-voiced  bell  could  strike  again, 
Gilbert  had  stopped  his  ears  and  covered 
his  face ;  then,  thinking  himself  both  weak 
and  cowardly,  he  quickly  took  away  hia 
hands,  folded  them  and  listened. 


202    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAIXFORD. 

There  can  be  no  voice  more  sweetly 
mournful  than  the  bell  which  tolls  out  the 
years  of  a  dear,  dead  friend.  Every  waver- 
ing knell  strikes  upon  the  heart  and  conjures 
up  visions  of  the  year  for  which  it  tolls, — 
some  of  them  happy  years,  some  full  of  con- 
tent, others  weary  and  griefful, —  all  of  them 
making  the  finished  tale  of  a  life.  So  it  was 
with  Gilbert,  as  the  bell  in  its  tall  spire 
counted  sweetly  out  the  thirteen  years  of 
his  little  friend ;  and  at  the  thirteenth  and 
last,  he  wept  for  very  thankfulness,  that  he 
had  made  it  a  pleasant  and  happy  one. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  0,   RAY  !  " 

.  rF\IIE  bell  was  still,  and  then,  low  down 
••-  behind  the  hills,  a  voice  muttered  — 
hoarse  and  deep  like  the  voice  of  a  giant  — 
and  dashing  away  the  tears,  Gilbert  sudden- 
ly raised  his  head  to  listen.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  it  came  again,  but  when  it  did 
come  it  was  vast  and  echoing, —  the  thunder- 
ous, mighty  voice  of  a  storm,  rising  up  from 
behind  the  scorched  hiHs. 

For  a  minute  he  sat  motionless,  hardly 
believing  his  own  ears.  They  had  all  looked 
and  waited  for  the  blessed  tidings  so  long, 
that  now  the  news  seemed  too  good  to  be 
true.  But  puffs  of  cool,  damp  air  floated 

203 


204:        THE   LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

against  his  cheeks,  and  sighed  through  the 
sad-hued,  long-silent  trees.  A  flash  of  fire 
gleamed  out  of  the  fringed  edge  of  the  com- 
ing  cloud,  followed  by  a  murmur  of  thunder. 
There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt. 

Gilbert  hastily  rose  and  made  his  way 
into  the  study.  "  There's  a  storm  coming, 
Mr.  Winterhalter ! "  he  said,  with  more 
brightness  in  his  face  than  there  had  been 
in  it  for  a  long  time. 

"Thank  God!"  said  Mr.  Winterhalter, 
throwing  open  the  blinds  to  look  out.  Even 
while  he  gazed,  the  echo  of  thunder  floated 
into  the  room. 

Gilbert  hurried  away,  up  to  the  sick-room. 
"  There's  a  storm  coming !  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  went  up  to  Mrs.  Winterhalter  by  Ray's 
bedside,  "  and  it  will  soon  be  here.  And  oh, 
why  did  you  let  me  sleep  so  long  ?  You  're 
worn  out !  " 
"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Winterhalter.  "  You 


"  0,   RAY  !  "  205 

were  doing  so  well  that  I  would  not  disturb 
you.  Are  you  rested  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  —  and  the  storm  !  Oh,  how  can 
we  be  glad  and  thankful  enough  ?  " 

"  Xow  you  talk  like  yourself/'  said  Mrs. 
Winterhalter,  gladly.  And  seeing  how  wist- 
fully Gilbert  was  looking  at  his  friend,  she 
added,  "  Ray  is  no  worse,  but  this  is  the 
crisis.  Doctor  has  been  here  since  you 
went  to  rest,  and  says  that  if  he  lives 
through  this  night,  he  will  get  well." 

"0,  Mrs.  Winterhalter ! "  Gilbert  cried, 
"  is  there  as  much  hope  as  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  good  lady,  slowly  ;  "  but  I 
fear  that,  after  all,  it  is  but  a  faint  hope. 
Ray  is  very  low." 

Gilbert  looked  at  the  wan  face  and  pale 
lips  from  which  all  the  breath  seemed  to 
have  flitted,  and  sighed ;  and  did  not  dare 
to  hope  that  his  friend  would  be  on  earth  by 
morning-light.  Then  Mrs.  Winterhalter  went 


206    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

away,  and  as  the  hour  for  medicines  had 
just  passed,  Gilbert  had  nothing  to  do  but 
sit  down  by  the  window  and  watch  the  up- 
rising storm  and  his  friend's  face. 

Riverside  hill  was  already  under  the 
sombre  shadow  of  the  cloud,  against  which 
its  towers  and  spires  gleamed  whitely,  and 
out  of  the  blue-black  heart  of  the  vaporous 
billows  that  rolled  up  and  surged  one  above 
another,  little  rills  of  glaring  flame  trickled 
down,  followed  by  a  great  jar  and  crashing 
of  thunder.  Hill  called,  to  hill  with  voice 
of  trembling  depth,  yet,  to  Gilbert's  ears,  as 
well  as  those  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
stricken  land,  it  was  the  sweetest,  pleasant- 
est  sound  which  the  whole  summer  had 
brought.  Through  the  dust-choked,  faded 
trees,  the  stormy  breath  of  the  cloud  rioted, 
and  raced  in  a  whirlwind  of  dust  up  the 
road  and  over  the  parched  country  fields. 
Then  a  swift  darkness  settled  over  the  earth, 
and  then  came . —  the  rain  ! 


"  0,   RAY  !  "  207 

Gilbert  thrust  his  hands  out  to  let  the 
great  drops  fall  upon  them.  He  leaned  far 
over  the  ledge  that  the  blessed  spray  might 
fall  upon  his  head.  What  joy  was  in  the 
land  !  what  rejoicing  !  for  at  last  the  Lord 
had  remembered  His  people  and  His  blessing 
had  come  down. 

The  great  drops  that  heralded  the  coming 
flood,  came  thicker  and  faster,  till  all  the  air 
was"  gray  with  spray,  and  the  landscape 
blurred  and  obscured. 

As  night  came  on  apace,  and  the  darkness 
deepened,  the  tempest  —  for  tempest  it  had 
grown  to  be  —  did  not  abate.  The  rain 
came  down  like  a  flood.  The  earth  shook 
with  thunder  as  if  the  scorched,  heated  hills 
had  at  last  ignited  and  burst  asunder.  The 
lightning  flamed  over  the  drenched  land,  and 
glared  blue  at  the  windows ;  and  with  the 
rumbling  peals,  the  sharp,  brittle  crashes,  and 
the  steady,  furious  downpour,  it  seemed  as 


208    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

if  the  earth   was   to   be   destroyed  by   the 
ravages  of  the  elements. 

The  Winterhalters  'and  Gilbert  ate  supper 
in  the  midst  of  this  tempest,  and,  for  all  the 
fearfulness  of  the  storm,  were  more  cheerful 
than  they  had  been  for  many  a  meal.  They 
knew  that  with  the  return  of  moisture  and 
coolness  and  verdure  to  the  earth,  the 
fever's  power  would  be  broken,  and  its  pro- 
gress stayed. 

After  the  meal  was  finished,  Gilbert  said 
to  the  good  lady  who  sat  opposite,  "  If  he 
should  grow  worse,  and  —  and  die,  Mrs.  Win- 
terhalter,  might  I  call  you  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  ! "  she  said.  "  If  there  is 
any  change  for  the  worse,  you  must  call  us 
at  once.  I  will  come  in  at  nine." 

Gilbert  took  his  departure,  thinking  of  the 
telegram  that  Ray's  father  had  bidden  him 
send,  but  which  the  tempest  forbade  all 
hope  of  forwarding  that  night,  at  least. 


"o,  RAY!"  209 

"  However,"  thought  poor  Gilbert,  as  he 
climbed  the  stairs,  "  in  the  morning  the  mes- 
sage will  be  a  decisive  one.  He  will  either 
be  dead  or  bound  to  recover." 

How  short  the  time  seemed  between  this 
hour  and  morning-light,  and  yet  what  a  great 
change  was  to  take  place  !  Either  the  angel 
of  Death,  or  the  angel  of  Life  was  to  enter 
the  house  to  stand  by  Ray's  bedside.  All 
this  Gilbert  thought  of  as  he  entered  the 
chamber.  The  room  had  already  grown 
purer  and  fresher,  and  with  the  shutters 
closed  tightly,  and  the  mild  light  falling  on 
the  quiet  beds,  it  looked  as  cheerful  and 
comfortable- as  such  a  room  might. 

Stratton  had  settled  himself  comfortably 
iu  one  corner,  ready  for  any  call  or  aid,  and 
thus  Gilbert  was  left  quite  by  himself  in  his 
corner  by  Ray. 

An  hour  slowly  ticked  itself  away,  as  he 
sat  here  in  his  chair,  and  after  he  had  been 


210    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

his  round  and  got  back  to  his  post  again,  he 
fancied  that  there  had  been  a  change  in  Ray 
during  his  absence.  It  was  not  much  — 
only  something  in  the  breathing  —  and  Gil- 
bert could  not  tell  whether  it  was  a  good 
or  bad  symptom.  His  watch  showed  him 
that  it  was  already  half-past  eight,  and  re- 
membering that  Mrs.  Winterhalter  would 
be  in  at  nine,  he  decided  to  wait  her  coming. 
The  storm  was  at  its  height,  and  the  crash- 
es of  thunder  were  fearful  and  numerous. 
Gilbert's  face  was  close  to  his  friend's  to 
note  every  breath  that  he  drew,  and  on  the 
pillow  beside  him,  the  watch  lay  ticking 
away  the  minutes,  and,  as  Gilbert  began  to 
fear,  Ray's  dear  life,  too.  As  he  looked  at 
the  passive  face,  the  quiet  tears  filled  his 
eyes,  and  he  thought  of  the  place  he  was 
in  —  watching  out  the  last  swift  minutes 
of  his  best  friend  —  with  wonder  at  his  own 
calmness  and  endurance. 


"o,  RAY!"  211 

Just  then  heaven  and  earth  seemed  to 
come  together  in  one  prolonged,  fearful, 
hollow  crash,  and  Gilbert  turned  his  face 
to  the  window,  half  expecting  to  see  the 
walls  totter  or  light  up  with  flame  ;  but  as 
the  echoes  died  away,  and  the  walls  stood 
firm  and  unscorched,  he  turned  back  to  the 
pillow,  and  as  he  did  so  came  near  crying 
out,  for,  clear  and  undimmed,  Ray's  eyes 
were  looking  at  him. 

Gilbert's  first  impulse  was  to  shout  for 
very  joy  ;  but  remembering  himself,  he  bent 
his  head  low  and  kissed  his  friend's  lips,  and 
laying  his  head  beside  the  dear  one  on  the 
pillow,  sobbed  softly,  and  behaved  in  a  man- 
ner altogether  unusual  for  Gilbert  Starr. 

The  angel  had  come,  and  it  was  the  angel 
of  Life ;  though  Gilbert  was  not  so  sure  of 
this  fact,  till  some  time  after.  He  remem- 
bered too  well  how  Perry  Kent's  eyes  had 
opened  —  in  this  same  calm,  clear  manner  — 


212    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

at  the  last.  So,  without  daring  to  take  his 
eyes  off  Ray's  face,  Gilbert  made  signs  to 
'Stratton,  and  asked  him  to  go  for  Mrs.  Win- 
terhalter,  without  an  instant's  delay. 

The  nurse  complied,  and  two  or  three 
minutes  after,  the  good  lady  came  in.  Gil- 
bert pointed  to  his  friend's  face,  without  a 
word,  and  stood  watching  Mrs.  Winterhal- 
ter's  countenance. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  she  had  felt  Ray's 
pulse  and  bent  over  him  for  a  few  seconds, 
"  is  it  for  good  or  bad  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  for  good,"  said  she.  How 
those  words  thrilled  Gilbert.! 

"  But,"  said  he,  not  wishing  to  hope  when 
there  was  no  hope,  "  I  am  afraid  that  it  may 
be  like  poor  Perry's  waking,  after  all." 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Winterhalter  answered,  "  it  is 
not  at  all  like  that, —  except  that  he  has 
wakened  out  of  a  long  sleep." 

Gilbert  sat  down,  perfectly  still  with  his 


"  0,   RAY  !  "  213 

unutterable  joy.  The  kind  lady  staid  till 
half -past  nine,  and  as  there  was  no  change 

*  • 

for  the  worse,  rose  up  to  go,  saying,  "  The 
crisis  must  be  past,  and  he  certainly  seems 
a  great  deal  improved." 

"  And  shall  I  do  any  differently  than  be- 
fore ?  "  Gilbert  asked. 

"  No  ;  keep  on  just  the  same,  and  at  five 
the  doctor  will  be  here,"  Mrs.  Winterhalter 
answered,  and  went  her  way  with  a  lighter 
heart  than  she  had  had  since  the  first  day 
fever  entered  school. 

Gilbert  thought  no  more  of  storm  or  peril 
that  night,  nor  did  he  close  his  eyes  in  sleep. 
He  was  much  too  happy  for  that.  His  glad- 
ness and  gratefulness  could  not  be  express- 
ed. If  he  seated  himself  a  little  way  from 
the  bedside,  thinking  to  take  a  few  minutes 
of  rest  and  perhaps  sleep,  he  was  presently 
filled  with  such  a  desire  to  go  back  and  look 
*iii  Gay's  face,  and  assure  himself  that  his 


214        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

friend  was  really  wide-awake  and  breathing 
stronger  with  every  breath,  that  sleep  and 
rest  were  out  of  the  question. 

No  matter  if  Ray  was  too  feeble  to  talk 
or  stir, —  the  precious  life  was  left,  and  it 
could  be  brought  back  to  its  former  robust- 
ness by  care  and  the  tenderest  attention ; 
and  no  care,  Gilbert  thought,  would  be  too 
difficult  or  irksome  to  bestow  upon  his 
friend.  No  matter  if  this  friend  had  come 
back  to  consciousness  weak  and  faint  as  an 
infant,  and  with  not  half  so  strong  a  hold  of 
life  ;  life  had  been  spared,  and  this  life  was 
Ray's  !  So  all  the  happy,  grateful  night  he 
kept  vigil  —  too  glad  to  sleep,  too  glad  to 
think  of  his  fatigue  —  and  when  the  gray 
dawn  broke  over  the  drenched  land,  he  knelt 
down  by  the  bedside  to  pray  for  himself  and 
Ray,  and  to  thank  God  again  and  again  for 
this  friend  that  was  dead  but  now  was  alive 
again. 


«o,  RAY!"  215 

The  thunder-storm  had  turned  into  a  set- 
tled rain,  and  all  the  day  was  gray  with  a 
steady  pouring ;  but  Gilbert  contrived  to 
get  a  message  to  the  telegraph-office  through 
the  doctor's  agency,  and  thus  sent  the  good 
news  flashing  to  Ray's  friends.  About 
nightfall  a  messenger  came  down  from  the 
office  with  a  reply.  It  only  said : 

"  God  bless  you.  Ray's  mother  is  not 
dangerous  —  will  be  better  soon.  Send 
word  if  there  is  a  relapse. 

W.  H.  HtJXTEB." 

Gilbert  put  the  strip  of  paper  away  for 
Ray  to  look  at  as  soon  as  he  should  be  able, 
and  felt  that  he  had  a  double  reason  for  being 
glad  and  happy.  There  was  only  one  thing 
lacking  now,  and  that  was  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  Ray's  voice  once  more.  He  did  not 
care  whether  it  was  clear  and  firm,  or  only 
a  faint,  husky  whisper,  so  it  but  came.  And 


216        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

one  morning,  a  day  or  two  after  this,  the 
much  wished  for  pleasure  was  his.  The 
storm  had  cleared  away  and  left  what 
seemed  like  a  new  earth.  The  air  was  clear 
as  crystal,  and  the  sky  blue  and  pure  as  a 
sapphire.  Already,  along  the  path-edges, 
the  grass  was  sprouting  green  and  fresh, 
and  afar  the  fields  began  to  flush  anew  with 
the  tender  color  of  spring-time. 

Gilbert  had  the  blinds  wide  open  and  the 
window  up,  for  all  the  patients  in  the  room 
were  better,  except  Gates,  and  as  he  was 
filling  the  glasses  with  fresh  water,  Ray 
awoke  from  his  long  night's  sleep,  and  said, 
the  first  thing,  "  Gilbert." 

Gilbert  came  near  dropping  the  pitcher, 
and  was  by  his  friend  in  an  instant. 

"  0,  Ray  I  "  said  he, —  "  just  let  me  hear 
you  say  that  again." 

"  Gilbert,"  said  Ray,  putting  out  his  hand, 
and  smiling  for  the  first  time. 


"  0,   RAY  1  "  217 

Ray's  friend  thought  himself  the  happiest 
fellow  in  Rainford  at  that  moment,  as,  indeed, 
he  was. 

By  degrees  the  feat  of  asking  a  whole 
question  was  achieved,  and  for  every  ques- 
tion that  Ray  asked  with  his  tongue,  three 
were  asked  by  his  eyes,  and  Gilbert  soon 
got  so  as  to  divine  his  friend's  wants  and 
wishes  quite  readily.  Stratton  stared  very 
hard,  sometimes,  when  he  heard  Gilbert 
answering  questions  which,  so  he  thought, 
had  never  been  asked. 

Now  Gilbert  would  have  liked  no  better 
pleasure  than  to  sit  beside  Ray  all  day  long, 
but  just  at  this  juncture,  Captain  Gates's 
illness  began  to  be  a  serious  matter,  and  the 
care  of  him  a  somewhat  difficult  task.  He 
was  delirious,  and  the  fever  had  not  been 
heavy  enough  to  greatly  reduce  his  strength, 
so  that  Gilbert  and  Stratton  often  had  all 
they  could  do  to  keep  the  captain  in  his  bed. 


218    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  BAINFOED. 

One  "by  one,  just  as  soon  as  they  were 
able,  the  other  convalescents  were  removed 
to  the  quieter  school-room,  where  there  was 
more  room,  and  they  could  stir  about  a  little. 
But  Ray,  who  was  not  yet  strong  enough 
to  bear  removal,  and  Gates,  who  did  not 
mend  at  all,  still  remained,  and  between  the 
two  Gilbert's  time  and  care  were  divided. 
However,  there  was  prospect  of  release 
ahead,  as  the  invalids  were  recovering  so 
fast,  that  Stratton  would  soon  be  enabled  to 
leave  them  altogether  and  devote  his  time 
to  the  Captain,  and  then  —  0  happy  mo- 
ment !  —  with  duty  done,  and  Ray  almost 
well,  and  unbroken  leisure  and  rest  his  own, 
Gilbert  was  sure  that  he  could  drive  away 
the  aching  and  lassitude  that,  unknown  to 
all  but  himself,  had  of  late  oppressed  him. 

One  evening,  when  Gates  had  got  quiet, 
and  with  the  blinds  and  window  thrown 
wide  —  letting  in  a  great  flood  of  radiance 


"  0,   RAY  !  "  219 

from  tlie  golden-hearted  west,  that  fell  across 
Ray's  bed,  making  him  look  more  than  ever 
like  the  fair-haired  angel  in  Mrs.  Winterhal- 
ter's  painting  —  Gilbert  sat  in  his  chair,  an- 
swering his  friend's  eager  questions  which 
had  been  waiting  for  a  leisure  moment  all 
the  afternoon.  Hay  had  been  over  the 
•whole  account  of  the  good  news  which  his 
letter  had  brought  him  that  night  (his  moth- 
er was  coming  to  see  him)  and  now  was  en- 
quiring after  his  classmates. 

Gilbert  had  just  said,  in  answer  tp  Ray's 
query,  "  Gates  is  no  better  to-night.  I  wish 
you  were  able  to  be  moved  below.  You  'd 
improve  a  great  deal  faster.  All  the  fellows 
down  there  are  doing  wonderfully  well." 

"  Oh,"  said  Ray,  looking  at  Gilbert  with 
his  calm,  gold-touched  face,  "  that  makes  mo 
think  !  Where  is  Perry  Kent  ?  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  Gilbert's 
breast  heaved,  his  chin  quivered,  and  the. 


220    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

quick  tears  flashed  into  his  gray  eyes.  "  0 
Ray  !  "  he  said,  tremulously. 

"  There,  there,  —  don't !  "  said  Ray,  quick- 
ly, touched,  and  quite  shocked  at  the  revela- 
tion. 

This  was  the  end  of  all  questions  for  that 
night,  and  Gilbert's  little  friend  was  a  tacitly 
forbidden  subject  for  a  long  time  after  that ; 
though  when  Gilbert  brushed  near  the  bed, 
after  lighting  the  lamp  that  evening,  Ray 
put  out  his  hand  to  press  his  friend's  with 
silent  sympathy,  that  was  much  better  than 
any  words. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHAT  FOLLOWED   A  TUMBLE. 

fTVBE  power  of  the  fever  was  broken,  and 
•*•  its  progress  stayed  throughout  the  land. 
The  fields  grew  green,  the  earth  put  off  its 
scorched  garments,  and  once  more  the  river 
rolled  broad  and  blue  down  to  the  sea.  Peo- 
ple came  back  to  their  homes  and  their 
work,  and  again  life  and  labor  went  on  in 
their  old  channels.  The  sails  came  up  from 
the  sea,  the  drays  rumbled  and  rattled  along 
the  shadow  of  Riverside,  and  once  more 
Rainford  streets  were  noisy  with  the  hum 
and  stir  of  business.  Only  the  cemetery, 
nestling  with  its  firs  and  white  slabs  on  the 

hill-slope,  hinted  of  what  had  been. 
221 


222   THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

At  Mr.  Winterhalter's  the  invalids  were 
creeping  out  into  the  cheerful,  happy  fresh- 
ness of  the  summer  days,  rejoicing  in  their 
life  and  liberty.  Captain  Philip  still  hovered 
between  life  and  death,  and  as  the  remainder 
of  the  class  were  now  in  need  of  little  care, 
Stratton  took  Gilbert's  place  by  Gates's  bed- 
side, and  at  last  he  was  at  liberty  !  But  the 
hour  of  release  came  too  late.  The  strain 
had  been  too  long  and  severe  for  even  Gil- 
bert's sturdy  frame,  and  with  a  sudden  snap, 
as  it  were,  of  all  his  powers  of  endurance, 
the  climax  came. 

He  was  coming  out  of  the  sick-chamber 
one  morning,  and  as  he  took  the  first  step 
towards  descending  the  stairs,  a  swift  blind- 
ness and  dizziness  came  upon  him,  and  that 
was  the  last  he  knew  for  three  long  weeks. 
But  the  inmates  of  the  lower  floor  were 
startled  by  a*  dull  fall  and  tumbling,  and  Mrs. 
Winterhalter  rushed  out  of  the  study  with 


WHAT  FOLLOWED   A  TO1BLE.  223 

a  white  face,  to  find  Gilbert  Starr  lying  very 
pale  and  still  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  while 
the  blood  —  not  from  any  vital  part  —  but 
from  his  nose,  which  had  been  sadly  bumped 
in  the  sudden  descent,  trickled  along  and 
under  the  hall-mat.  Of  course,  good  Mrs. 
Winterhalter  was  very  frightened,  indeed. 
For  half  a  minute  she  stood  motionless, 
thinking  Gilbert  had  broken  his  neck,  at 
least ;  then  she  cried  for  help.  Stratton, 
who  had  heard  the  tumble,  came  running 
down  from  the  sick-chamber,  and  Mr.  Win- 
terhalter, who  had  heard  nothing  but  his 
wife's  cry,  came  running  too,  and  quickly 
there  was  quite  a  crowd  gathered  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs,  all  frightened  and  dis- 
mayed at  the  sight  ttatt  met  their  gaze.  Mr. 
Winterhalter  recovered  his  senses  sooner 
than  the  others,  and  got  Gilbert's  coat  and 
vest  open,  and  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

"  He  is  not  dead !  "  he  cried ;  "  Stratton, 
help  me  lift  him." 


224         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

They  took  him  up  tenderly  and  carried 
him  .  into  the  adjacent  study.  Here,  upon^ 
the  sofa,  and  after  five  jainutes  of  exertion 
on  the  part  of  the  Winterhalters  and  Strat- 
ton,  Gilbert  began  to  breathe,  though  only 
faintly. 

"  He  must  have  swooned  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs,"  said  the  principal,  "  and  from  there 
rolled  to  the  foot." 

"  I  thought  he  looked  pale  when  he  started 
to  go  out,"  said  Stratton,  "  and  I  believe  he 
said  something  about  wanting  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  ;  but  he  has  looked  so  before,  so  I 
didn't  mind." 

Fortunately  the  doctor  came  in  just  then 
to  see  Gates,  and  Mr.  Winterhalter  brought 
him  into  the  study 


"  Ah  !  "  said  the  physician,  as  he  seated 
himself  by  the  sofa.  m  "  Well,  I  Ve  been  ex- 
pecting it." 

"Expecting  what?  "said  Mrs.  Wiuterhal- 
ter  in  alarm. 


He  imist  have  swooned  at  the  top  of  the  stuirs."        I'ajre  225. 


WHAT   FOLLOWED   A   TUMBLE.  225 

• 

"Just  this,"  said  the  doctor.  "He's  worn 
out..  I  knew  it  would  come  with  a  snap 
when  it  did  come." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  —  the  fever  ?  "  faltered 
Mrs.  Winterhalter,  looking  ready  to  faint 
away. 

"  Yes,   madam,"   the   doctor  answered   in 

» 
that  suave,  bland   tone   so  peculiar  to   the 

profession. 

The  good  lady  sent  the  crowd  of  eager 
faces  at  the  door  back  to  their  own  province. 

"  Let  him  have  plenty  of  air  and  light," 
said  the  doctor,  as  he  rose  to  go  ;  "  1  '11  come 
again  at  noon." 

After  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  and 
.  had  heard  his  boots  go  squeaking  up- 
stairs, the  husband  and  wife  sat  looking  in 
silence  at  each  other  for  a  little  space. 
Then  Mrs.  Winterhalter,  looking  at  Gilbert 
with  a  sad  face,  said,  "  Poor  fallow  !  " 

"  Where  shall  we  put  him  ?  "  said  the  prin- 
cipal. 


226        THE  J.AST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

• 

"  Here/'  the  good  lady  answered,  quickly ; 
"  he  shall  stay  here.  I  will  have  a  bed  put 
up  in  that  corner  by  the  big  book-case, 
where  I  can  care  for  him  myself.  No  one 
else  shall  do  it." 

"  Are  you  not  too  much  worn  ?  "  suggested 
her  husband. 

"  No  !  —  not  to  take  care  of  Gilbert.  Do 
you  remember  all  he  has  done  for  us,  Mr. 
Winterhalter?" 

Mr.    Winterhalter    did    remember.      He 
called  Mrs.  Brant  and  assisted  her  to  make 

up  the  cool,  snowy  bed,  where   Gilbert  was 

• 
to  lie,  and  then,  by  dint  of  Stratton's  help, 

removed  the  ex-captain's  clothes  and  got  him 
down  among  the  pillows  at  last.  And  that 
was  the  beginning  of  a  long  sleep, —  tired, 
worn-out  nature  asserting  her  rights,  and 
taking  a  deep,  unbroken  rest.  Slowly  but 
surely  the  fever  had  fastened  upon  him, 
working  insiduously  and  undermining  his 
vitality  all  those  many,  fearful  days  when  he 


WHAT   FOLLOWED   A   TUMBLE.  227 

sat  among  his  stricken  comrades,  and  now 
here  was  the  result. 

Xo  sooner  had  Mrs.  Winterhalter  seen 
that  Gilbert  was  comfortably  installed  in  his 
new  quarters,  than  she  bethought  herself  of 
Raj,  and  went  out  into  the  school-room  — 
devoted  to  the  use  of  the  invalids  —  to  find 
him.  He  was  sitting  by  a  window,  and 
cried  out  as  soon  as  she  entered, 

"  0,  Mrs.  Winterhalter !  what  has  hap- 
pened ?  The  boys  won't  tell  me." 

"  We  thought  it  would  make  him  worse 
or  something,"  said  Tom  Fowler. 

But  the  good  lady  knew  that  the  truth 
was  better  than  suspense,  and  answered, 
"  Gilbert  fainted  away,  and"  is  going  to  be 
quite  ill,  the  doctor  thinks.  But  we  have 
him  nicely  settled  in  the  study,  where  I  can 
be  with  him  through  it  all." 

Ray's  face  was  rather  shocked,  but  he 
tried  to  be  brave.  "  I  'nj  glad  you  told  me," 


228    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFORD. 

he  said,  "  for  I  can  bear  it  a  great  deal  befc 
ter  than  imagining  all  sorts  of  things.  I  'd 
like  to  get  well  and  help  take  care  of  him ! 
And  —  and  might  I  go  in  and  look  at  him  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Winterhalter,  shaking  her 
head,  "  that  would  not  do  at  all.  You  must 
not  expose  yourself.  Try  to  be  patient  and 
wait  till  he's  recovering."  And  with  this, 
though  it  was  a  very  hard  thing  to  do,  Ray 
had  to  content  himself. 

Now,  in  one  sense,  if  not  in  all,  Gilbert's 
sickness  was  a  blessing  in  disguise.  It 
brought  all  those  hearts  that  had  been  set 
against  him  back  to  the  love  and  loyalty  of 
the  previous  summer ;  only,  as  before  the 
loyalty  grew  out  of  admiration,  now  it 
sprang  from  a  deep,  fervent  sense  of  grati- 
tude and  affection, —  a  loyalty  that  could  not 
be  shaken  because  it  grew  out  of  something 
real,  deep  and  vital.  How  could  Gilbert's 

old  men  —  as  one  by  one  they  crawled  up  to 

• 


WHAT  FOLLOWED   A   TUMBLE.  229 


* 


their  former  strength  and  robustness  —  keep 
their  hearts  steeled  against  the  reineinbranc3 
of  all  that  he  had  done  for  them?  They 
could  not ;  they  did  not  trjr.  They  gave  him 
at  once,  without  question  or  hesitancy,  all 
the  fervid  gratitude  and  affection  of  their 
hearts.  "  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than 

this,  that  a  man  lay  down   his  life   for  his 

* 

friends."  Gilbert  had  not  yet  parted  with 
life  for  their  sakes,  but  wa%  he  not  now  very 
near  it  ?  Had  he  shunned  the  danger  in  the 

least  to  keep  his  life  ?     Had  he  not  the  same 

• 
as  laid  it  down  for  them?  —  they,  who  had 

scorned  him  for  a  weak,  soft-hearted,  unman- 

fellow ! 

Well,  it  is  not  the  greatest  or  noblest 
deeds  that  seem  greatest  or  noblest  at  the 
time  of  their  performance.  Deeds  which 
seem  very  insignificant  and  are  pushed  away 
into  the  darkness  and  forgetfulness  of  to-day 
by  more  startling  and  fortunate  claimants  for 


230    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

-* 

admiration,  may,  in  the  far-off  to-morrow,  be 
tho  deeds  most  honored  and  most  revered. 

So,  when  Gilbert  perilled  his  life  for  his 
enemies,  and  was  not  conscious  of  doing  any 
particularly  noble  act,  this  very  unconscious- 
ness and  forgetfulness  of  self,  served  to 
make  the  lesson  a  deeper  one  and  fuller  of 
the  beauty  and  grace  which  rest  upon  all 

<5 

noble  acts.  Truths  strike  all  the  deeper  and 
take  firmer  root,'for  flashing  upon  one  in 
their  own  full  beauty  and  significance,  in- 
stead of  being  hammered  in  by  somebody's 
mallet ;  and  the  act  which  had  done  so  much 
for  Mr.  Winterhalter's  boys  took  a  fairer, 
lovelier  shape  in  their  eyes  now  that  i 
nobleness  dawned  upon  them  day  after  day, 

while  their  benefactor  lay  wasting  under  the 

• 

fever  which  he  had  taken  from  them.  They 
thought  of  Gilbert's  deed,  and  talked  of  it 
with  awe  and  wonder  in  their  tones, —  be- 
cause, you  see,  they  could  not  conceive  how 


WHAT  FOLLOWED   A  TUMBLE.  231 

it  was  possible  for  him  to   do  so  much  for 
those  who  had  wronged  him. 

They  beset  Mrs.  Winterhalter  every  half- 

tur  to  get  tidings  from  the  study  where 
eir  old  captain  wras  locked  in  the  death- 
like fever-sleep  ;  and  if  the  news  was  good, 
they  said,  "  We  '11  have  him  back  again 
pretty  quick,  and  won't  we  be  kind  to  the  poor 
old  fellow  ! "  but  if  it  was  bad,  they  went 
around  with  very  sober  faces,  thinking,  "  Oh, 
if  he  will  only  get  well  so  that  we  can  tell 
him  that  we  know  he  isn't  a  sham,  or  a 
traitor,  or  anything  but  what's  a  hundred 
times  better  than  we  are  !  " 

This  great  change  in  Gilbert's  enemies 
both  touched  and  pleased  Ray.  "  It's  come 
—  the  change — just  as  Mrs.  Winterhalter 
said  it  would,"  he  often  thought  to  himself; 
"  but  oh,  how  much  it  has  cost  the  poor  fel- 
low !  —  and  there's  no  telling  that  he  '11  ever 
get  better  to  know  that  everything  has  corns 


232        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

right  at  last.  But  if  he  don't  —  Well,"  Ray 
would  think,  almost  choking  with  tears,  "  I 
suppose  he  '11  know  it  all  when  he's  dead, 
and  gone  —  like  Perry  Kent  —  to  heaven." 

They  passed  the  evenings  —  these  inva- 
lids —  in  such  amusements  as  were  suited  to 
their  yet  weak  limbs,  playing  backgammon, 
chess,  and  the  like  ;  but  there  was  generally 
a  little  space  before  going  to  bed,  when  the 
chess-boards  were  pushed  away  and  they 
sat  chatting,  for  comfort  and  consolation, 
among  themselves. 

One  evening  Mr.  Winterhalter  had  been 
in,  as  usual,  to  tell  them  how  Gilbert  was 
progressing,  and  as  the  news  was  unfavor- 
able, they  all  sat  silent  and  depressed,  after 
he  was  gone,  till  Tom  Fowler  burst  out  with, 

"  I  say,  I  wish  somebody  would  speak  !  I 
can't  stand  this.  It's  worse  than  being 
downright  hard  sick  —  a  great  sight !  " 

"  What  can  we  say  ?  "  Ray  asked,  mourn- 
fully. 


WHAT   FOLLOWED   A   TUMBLE. 

"  Something  !  —  I  don't  care  what,"  said 
Tom  ;  "  I  'd  rather  talk  about  the  poor  cap- 
tain than  sit  so  dreadfully  blue  and  lone- 
some. Oh,  but  I  tell  you,  boys,  if  I  could 
get  rid  of  thinking  of  some  things  that  tor- 
ment me,  I  'd  give  all  the  money  I  ever  had 
or  ever  expect  to  have." 

"  What  troubles   you  ? "  said   Al   Turner. 

"  I  should  think  you  \l  bettor  ask  that," 
said  Tom  Fowler,  almost  bitterly ;  then 
changing  his  tone,  he  added,  "  "Well,  it's  no 
time  to  be  bitter,  and  I  won't  be  !  We  were 
all  to  blame.  We  knew  perfectly  well  that 
we  were  doing  an  outrageous  thing  when  we 
took  the  poor  captain's  command  away, 
and  treated  him  shamefully  for  saying  his 
prayers  like  the  man  he  was,  and  doing  what 
he  thought  was  square  and  right  about  that 
flag.  I  declare,  I  don't  know  what  a  lot  of 
fellows  won't  do  when  they  're  mad ! " 

"  And  to  think  what  we  put  in  his  place  1 " 
said  Barry  White. 


234    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

"I  know!  — that —  that  — Well,  I  won't 
call  poor  Gates  names,  now,"  said  Tom. 
"  But  that's  not  the  worst !  —  it's  to  think 
how  we  insulted  the  poor  old  captain  every 
chance  we  could  get,  calling  him  names  that 
belonged  to  ourselves  instead  of  him.  I 
remember- one  Sunday  when  we  came  upon 
him  down  by  the  lawn-edge,  and  did  our  best 
to  disturb  him.  By  and  by  he  got  up  with 
his  Bible  in  his  hand  —  we'd  made  such  a 
clatter  that  he  couldn't  read  —  and  just  then 
says  I,  as  he  went  walking  away,  '  Behold 
the  just  man  made  perfect!  —  the  good, 
meek,  devout  hypocrite  who  walketh  square- 
ly, singeth  through  his  nose,  and  looketh  not 
upon  sinners.'  "With  that  he  wheeled  around 
like  a  flash,  his  eyes  fairly  snapping  —  you 
know  he's  got  a  hot  temper,  and  it  used 
to  fly  up  like  a  rocket  —  and  there  he  stood 
looking  at  me,  his  hands  twitching,  yet  with- 
out saying  a  word,  till  his  face  all  softened 


WHAT  FOLLOWED   A  TUMBLE.  235 

down  as  kind  and  gentle  as  a  woman's,  and 
great  guns  !  "  cried  Tom,  bringing  his  hands 
together  with  a  clap,  "  I  was  so  ashamed 
of  myself  that  I  was  ready  to  creep  into  a 
knot-hole,  though  of  course  I  blustered  and 
pretended  it  was  all  a  good  joke.  I  never 
forgot  that.  And  now,  only  last  night,  I 
dreamed  the  poor  old  fellow  had  got  well, 
and  that  we  all  went  in  to  shake  his  hand 
—  as  I  hope  we  shall  do  before  long  —  and 
when  I  asked  him  to  shake  hands  and  forget 
old  scores,  he  only  looked  at  me  with  that 
same  gentle  face  which  he  had  that  Sunday, 

and  kept  back  his  hand.     I  don't  know  what 
i 
ails  me,  but  I've  kept  thinking  of  that  dream 

ever  since,  and  it  seems  to  me,  boys,  that 
if  I  could  be  sure  that  he  wouldn't  keep 
back  his  hand  when  the  time  really  does 
come  to  shake  it,  and  that  I  could  be  certain 
that  he'd  forgiven  me,  if  he  should  happen 
to  go  away  without  being  able  to  tell  me  so 


236        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT  RAINFORD. 

—  I'd,  I'd  —  oh,  I'd  give  one  year  of  my  life  ! 
and  that's  something  for  a  fellow  that  likes 
to  live  as  well  as  I  do." 

Tom  had  to  wink  very  hard  during  the 
latter  part  of  this  long  recital,  to  keep  the 
tears  back  where  they  belonged,  and  when 
he  had  finished,  five  long  minutes  ticked 
themselves  away  before  an}*body  spoke. 
Then  it  was  Ray. 

"  Tom,"  said  he,  huskily,  "  I  thought  you 
hadn't  much  heart,  but — but  I  don't  think 
so,  now;  and  I  can  tell  you  just  as  certainly 
as  if  I  had  it  from  the  dear  fellow's  lips, 

• 

that  he  never  will  keep  his  hand  back,  and 
that  you  are  forgiven.  Would  he  have 
taken  care  of  us  all  with  his  heart  full  of 
hate  and  dislike  ?  " 

There  was  no  need  of  answering  this 
question,  and  in  words  it  was  not  answered  ; 
but  in  their  hearts  —  Ah,  hearts,  are  often 
too  full  to  let  the  tongue  speak. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GILBEKT'S  AWAKENING. 

HHHE  crisis  of  Gilbert  Starr's  fever  came  at 
-*-  last  —  and  passed.  Weak,  wasted,  and 
more  helpless  than  a  little  child,  he  once 
more  opened  his  eyes  to  light  and  life,  and 
a  glimmering  consciousness  of  friends  who 
flitted  about  his  bedside,  bestowing  the  kind- 
est and  tenderest  of  care. 

It  seemed  to  him,  now,  as  if  he  had  been 
locked  in  a  long,  deep  sleep,  and  that  this 
present  half-consciousness  was  the  lighter 
slumber  of  a  dream,  and  the  moving  figures 
and  the  dim,  far-off  voices  but  the  unreal 
sights  upd  sounds  of  dreamland.  This  half- 
stupor  lasted  for  several  days ;  then  he  began 

237 


238         THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

to  take  a  stronger  hold  of  life  and  waken  out 
of  his  long  slumber  and  dreaming. 

A  bird  in  the  syringa  bushes,  just  without 
the  study-window,  awoke  him  one  morning 
with  its  singing  and  chatter,  and  to  Gilbert 
it  seemed  as  if  the  bird  had  come  on  pur- 
pose to  waken  him  to  the  brightness  and 

• 

heartiness  of  the  life  from  which  he  had 
been  so  long  shut  out,  for  both  head  and 
heart  were  lighter  and  more  alive  to  out- 
ward things  than  they  had  been  for  many 
a  day. 

Very  slowly  his  eyes  opened  to  the  pleas- 
ant, shaded  light  of  the  room,  and  took  in 
tW  figure  of  some  one  sitting  on  the  bed- 
edge, —  a  figure  which  seemed  very  familiar, 
and  whose  presence  made  his  heart  beat 
warm  and  quick  ;  but  who  was  it  ? 

Gilbert's  efforts  at  thinking  or  reason- 
ing all  resulted  very  unsatisfactorily.—  one 
thought  seeming  to  chase  another  in  endless 


GILBERT'S  AWAKENING.  239 

pursuit  through  his  puzzled  head ;  and  so 
he  was  obliged  to  lie  tranquilly  regarding 
the  silent  figure  that  stirred  not  from  one 
half-hour  to  another.  Though  the  poor  fel- 
low's head  was  too  weak  to  tell  who  it  was 
sitting  so  patiently  beside  him,  yet  he  was 
glad  to  have  the  figure  there.  Once  it 
stirred  a  little,  and  seemed  about  to  depart, 
and  he  struggled  to  cry  out  and  bid  it  stay  ; 
and,  though  his  tongue  made  not  a  sound, 
the  figure  seemed  to  understand,  for  it  set- 
tled down  into  its  old  quietness. 

You  will  think  this  was  a  strange  predica- 
ment for  lithe,  agile  Gilbert  Starr  to  be  in, — 
too  weak  to  talk,  or  think,  or  put  out  his 
hands, —  and  so,  you  may  be  sure,  it  seemed 
to  his  friends  and  the  patient  figure  sitting 
beside  him.  They  had  always  known  the 
ex-captain  as  the  sturdiest,  healthiest  fellow 
in  school, —  never  sick,  never  ailing,  and  full 
to  overflowing  of  stir  and  spirit.  Now,  to 


THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT    RAIXFORD. 

seo  him  lying  white  and  ghost-like,  without 
power  of  speech,  or  even  thought,  and  una- 
blo  to  move  his  own  limbs,  made  the  tears 
come  when  ever  they  thought  how  near  he 
had  been  down  to  the  very  gates  of  death. 

Pretty  quick  Gilbert  saw  this  figure  be- 
side him  put  out  its  hand.  It  rested  gently 
upon  his  forehead,  and  its  touch  was  so 
grateful  that  he  closed  his  eyes  for  very 
pleasure  and  drifted  away  into  sleep.  When 
he  awoke  the  figure  was  gone,  and  a  shaded 
lamp  was  burning  in  a  corner  of  the  room ; 
and  some  dim  consciousness  of  the  fact  that 
it  was  now  night,  and  that  he  had  been 
asleep  a  long  time,  struggled  in  upon  him. 
Then  a  figure  of  different  shape  drew  near, 
treading  softly,  looked  at  him,  went  away, 
and  presently  returned  with  some  gruel  and 
broth  which  it  proceeded  to  pour  down  his 
throat  by  teaspoonfuls.  Then  the  figure 
went  away,  and  after  a  few  minutes  of 


GILBERT'S  AWAKEXIXG.  241 

watching  the  lamp,  lie  drifted  back  into  the 
mysterious  world  of  sleep.  So,  you  see,  the 
"  poor,  old  captain/'  as  Tom  Fowler  called 
him,  was  little  more  than  an  oyster, —  taking 
in  food  and  nourishment,  but  giving  little 
indication  of  life,  or  sense,  or  motion.  But 
he  got  a  little  stronger  hold  of  human  things 
every  day,  and  the  next  morning,  when  he 
awoke,  it  was  to  find  the  pleasant  figure 
sitting  beside  him,  and  to  make  a  renewed 
effort  to  discern  who  it  might  be,  and,  if  he 
should  be  so  fortunate,  speak  its  name. 

It  was  an  hour  before  anything  like  the 
truth  began  to  dawn  upon  him ;  but  then, 
quite  suddenly,  this  little  word  —  in  the 
shape  of  a  thought  —  flashed  upon  him, 
"  Ray  !  " 

Gilbert  lay  very  still  (that  waffe  not  so 
strange,  seeing  that  he  could  not  stir)  and 
very  happy  (because  of  the  truth  that  had 
found  its  way  into  his  poor,  weak  head)  and 


242    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

then  he  strove  to  make  a  sign  that  should 
show  his  friend  that  he  was  aware  of,  and 
rejoiced  in,  his  presence.  Another  hour 

- 

passed  before  he  had  accomplished  anything 
toward  this  ;  but,  after  at  least  fifty  failures, 
there  struggled  from  his  mouth  one  little 
sound  —  a  faint,  whispered,  tremulous  "  R." 

The  effect  of  this  sound  upon  the  figure 
was  quite  astonishing.  It  bobbed  about, 
and  showed  signs  of  the  most  extravagant 
joy,  and  to  end  off  with,  put  its  head  close 
down  to  Gilbert's  own,  nodding  and  smil- 
ing approvingly.  Thus  encouraged,  Gilbert 
made  another  essay,  and  after  a  long  and 
almost  despairing  struggle,  whispered,  "  A." 
At  this,  the  listening  figure  went  into  ecsta- 
sies, and  raised  one  finger  to  signify  that 
there  wa»  yet  one  letter  wanting.  Gilbert 
understood  and  went  to  work  to  pronounce 
it ;  but  it  was  no  light  matter  and  when  at 
last  the  feat  was  achieved  and  he  had  actual- 


GILBERT'S  AWAKENING.  243 

ly  spoken  R  —  A  —  Y,  lie  lay  quite  weak 
and  exhausted.  But  the  figure  was  so  de- 
lighted at  this  achievement  that  it  ran  away 
and  presently  came  back  with  another,  and 
the  two  bent  over  the  ex-captain  with  faces 
full  of  delight  and  gratitude. 

In  this  feeble  manner  Gilbert  Starr  strug- 
gled up  toward  his  old  hale,  hearty  life, 
getting  the  most  faithful  of  attention  from 
Riv  Hunt.?r,  and  as  tender  care  from  the 
Winterhalters  as  if  he  had  been  their  own 
son ;  and  getting  a  clearer  consciousness 
of  things  every  day,  as  well  as  a  better  con- 
trol of  his  own  powers,  it  so  happened  that 
as  Ray  came  in  to  his  pleasant  task  one 
morning,  Gilbert  looked  up  and  said,  as 
plainly  as  possible,  "  Ray  I  —  good  morn- 
ing ! " 

Of  course  there  was  great  rejoicing,  and 
Ray  had  to  go  back  to  the  school-room  to 
tell  the  fellows  there  that,  "  Gilbert  said 


244    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

'  good  morning/  just  now,  like  a  book  !  — 
and  he  looks  bright  enough  to  chatter  like 
a  magpie  ;  "  which  Gilbert  did  not  do  that 
day  at  least,  though  he  managed  to  articu- 
late a  few  questions.  But  the  next  day  he 
was  so  much  better  that  questions  were  no 
rarity  at  all,  and  Ray  sat  beside  him,  un- 
speakably happy. 

"  You  can't  know,  old  fellow,"  said  he, 
"  how  I  feel  to  hear  you  talking  bright  and 
chipper  again." 

"  As  if  I  hadn't  been  in  the  same  place," 
said  Gilbert. 

"  Not  quite  in  the  same  place,"  said  Ray, 
shaking  his  head ;  "  there's  some  difference 
between  my  getting  well  and  yours.  Oh, 
but  we  thought  we  'd  lost  you  more  than 
once,  old  fellow  !  " 

Gilbert  felt  as  if  he  had  been  lost  to  him- 
self at  any  rate,  and  presently  enquired, 

"  What  day,  and  what  day  of  the  month 


GILBERT'S  AWAKENING.  245 

is  it  ?  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea.  I  de- 
clare, it  seems  as  if  I  had  gone  back  to  a 
little  c^ild —  no  more  sense,  knowledge  or 
strength." 

"  It's  Tuesday,  and  the  eighteenth  of 
August,"  said  Raj ;  "  don't  you  hear  the 
locusts  whir  ?  —  and  the  grass  is  full  of  those 
rustling,  clicking  insects  that  I  'in  not  in- 
sectologer  enough  to  give  a  name  to." 

Gilbert  looked  puzzled  and  incredulous. 
"  The  eighteenth  of  August !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes/'  said  Ray. 

"  And  the  last  I  remember  it  was  the 
^wenty-fifth  of  July !  —  I'd  like  to  know 
where  I've  been  for  three  weeks  ?  " 

"  Xot  a  great  ways  from  this  bed  I  should 
say/'  Ray  answered,  smiling ;  "  but  we've  all 
kept  track  of  time  for  you,  so  don't  go  to 
worrying.  If  you  w,orry,  or  get  excited,  the 
doctor  '11  lay  it  all  to  me,  and  banish  me  to 
the  school-room.  "He  said  he  would ;  and 

• 

he's  a  horrible  man  to  keep  his  word." 


246    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFOED. 

"  And  this  is  my  last  summer ! "  said 
Gilbert,  with  a  sigh,  thinking  how  it  had 
been  broken  up. 

"  Now,  you  dear  old  goose,  what's  the  use 
of  thinking  of  that  ? "  said  Ray,  quickly. 
"  It  came  pretty  near  being  your  last  summer 
in  earnest,  and  the  rest  of  us  are  too  glad  to 
know  it  wasn't,  to  bother  about  books  or 
study.  Why,  you're  worth  all  the  books  in 
creation,  and  we  'd  a  thousand  times  rather 
you'd  be  alive  and  not  quite  so  smart,  than 
to  have  you  very  wise  and  dead  entirely." 

"  Softly,  softly,  Ray,"  said  Mr.  Winterhal- 
ter,  who  had  put  his  head  into  the  door  ii^ 
time  to  hear  the  conclusion  of  this  speech. 
"Gilbert  may  be  toot  weak  to  bear  such  a 
strong  statement." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Gilbert,  cheer- 
ily ;  "  I  don't  feel  exactly  overwhelmed,  yet. 
But  it's  better  than  medicine  to  hear  him 
talk,  I  think." 


GILBERT'S  AWAKENING.  247 

Mr.  Winterhalter  must  have  thought  so, 
or  he  would  not  have  gone  away  and  left 
them  together. 

"  But,"  said  Ray,  as  soon  as  the  door  shut, 
"  you're  no  further  behind,  in  studies,  than 

0 

the  rest  of  us.  We're  all  alike,  for  that 
matter ;  so  don't  you  tlunk  anything  more 
about  it." 

Gilbert  lay  silent  for  a  long  time  after  that, 
getting  rested  ;  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  to 
say,  "  When  will  school  open  ?  " 

"  There's  no  telling.  It  will  all  depend 
on  you.  I  heard  Mr.  Winterhalter  say  he 
won't  have  the  noise  or  confusion  till  you 
can  bear  it" 

"  Oh,  but  they  're  too  good  ! "  said  Gilbert, 
quickly,  with  a  suspicion  of  moisture  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Xo  !  "  asserted  Ray,  stoutly,  "  they  're 
not  a  bit  too  goed  !  They  're  only  grateful, 
— just  as  they  ought  to  be.  Mr.  Winterhal- 


248        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   KAIXFORD. 

ter  says,  '  Gilbert  risked  his  life  for  all  of 
us ;  now  be  shall  have  everything  for  bis 
comfort,  and  we'll  wait  till  winter  for  him  to 
get  well,  if  it's  necessary.'  That's  just  what 
he  said !  and  when  1  heard  him  say  it  I  could 
have  hugged  him." 

"Well,"  said  Gilbert,  "I'm  not  sure  but 
they'll  have  to  wait  till  winter  for  me.  I'm 
just  like  a  baby.  Oh,  but  I  can  hardly  stir 
my  feet !  "  he  added,  making  the  attempt. 

"  I  know,"  said  Ray,  with  a  great  variety 
of  expressions  upon  his  face,  the  principal 
one  being  that  of  pity  and  sorrow, —  Gilbert 
had  been  so  strong  and  lithe  and  agile. 
"But  what  of  it?"  he  asked,  brightly; 
"  you  're  as  snug  as  can  be,  now,  with  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  grow  strong;  and  there  isn't 
a  fellow  in  school  but  what  would  carry  you 
on  his  back  if  it  was  necessary." 

Gilbert  looked  up,  enquiringly.  Ray 
looked  dow^  happy  and  smiling.  "It's 


GILBERT'S  AWAKENING.  249 

true  ! "  said  he,  "  and  you  needn't  look  so 
amazed.  Things  have  taken  a  turn  or  two 
since  you  were  around,  I  can  tell  you." 

Gilbert's  eyes,  which,  since  his  illness,  Ray 
declared  had  "grown  bigger'n  a  cat's/'  said  — 
as  plainly  as  any  words  could  have  done  — 
"  Don't  keep  me  waiting,  but  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

.  "Just  as  if  you  didn't  know  !  —  just  as  if 
you  couldn't  guess ! "  said  Ray,  delightedly. 
"  Why,  what  could  happen,  but  just  what  has 
happened?  Do  you  suppose  they  haVen't 
found  out  who  was  in  our  room  during  the 
sickness?  and  do  you  suppose  they  aren't 
grateful?  "Well,  I  should  say  not  by  the  way 
they've  trotted  up  to  this  door  for  the  past 
week  —  first  one,  and  then  another,  and  then 
the  whole  of  'em  together  —  asking,  l  Is  the 
captain  better?'  or,  '  Is  the  captain  looking 
lively  this  morning  ? '  or,  '  How  is  he,  any- 
way, and  does  he  say  a  word  about  us?' 


250        THE  LAST   SUMMER  AT   RAKFORD. 

Why,  you  dear  old  fellow,  I've  had  my  hands 
full  with  'em  ! " 

"  And  they  called  me  captain  ? "  said 
Gilbert,  wonderingly. 

"  To  be  sure  !  —  that's  your  rank." 

"And  it*  all  right ? —"they 're  all  kind 
toward  me,  and  jus^as  they  were  once  ?" 

"  Yes ;  only  your  men  never  '11  desert  you 
again." 

Gilbert's  face  grew  very  calm  and  peace- 

"  ful.     "  I  'm  glad  !  "  he   said,  drawing  a  long 

breath.      Ray   never   knew,   till    then,   how 

much  the    captain   had   felt  the   loss  of  his 

friends  and  his  men. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  half-ready  to  cry 
at  the  look  that  was  on  Gilbert's  face,  "  I 
didn't  know  that  you  felt  so  about,  it.  I 
thought  you  didn't  mind,  much.  You  're  50 
funny,  old  fellow!  —  I  never  know  how  to 
take  you.  But  it's  all  past,  now,"  said  Ray, 
softly ;  "  it's  all  past,  and  there  isn't  a  fellow 


GILBERT'S  AWAKEMXG.  251 

in  the  class  but  would  go  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  for  you,  if  it  would  do  you  any  good.'' 

Gilbert  lay  still  a  long  time,  —  his  grave, 
wasted  face  looking  very  happy,  —  Ray 
thought ;  then  he  opened  his  eyes,  saying, 
"  But  Gates  !  Is  he  kind  toward  me,  too  ?  " 

Ray's  face  grew  suddenly  sober.  He  hes- 
itated, stammered,  tried  to  think  of  some- 
thing else,  and  at  last  said  nothing  better 
than,  "  Poor  Gates  !  " 

But  there  was  something  in  his  tone  and 
grave  face  that  told  the  whole  story.  Gil- 
bert shivered  a  little,  lay  very  still,  thinking 
of  it,  and  finally  asked,  "  When  did  he  die  ?  " 

"  There  !  you  oughtn't  to  think  of  it !  " 
said  Ray,  brightening  up.  "  Mr.  Winterhal- 
ter  said  I  was  to  say  nothing  about  it, —  and 
Gilbert,  dear,  do  try  to  go  to  sleep  or  think 
of  something  else,  won't  you  ?  " 

But  Gilbert  said,  "  I  can  bear  it, —  I  ''in 
strong  enough  ;  and  I  'd  tike  to  know," 


252        THE  LAST   SUMMER   AT   EAINFORD. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  tell  you  !  —  but  you  are  56 
hard  to  deny.  Well,  it  was  one  evening  — 
when  you  were  the  lowest  —  that — Oh,  it 
was  the  very  evening,  now  I  think  of  it,  that 

Forrest  came  over  and  offered  to  watch  with 

•» 
you,  and  Mrs.  Winterhalter  wouldn't  let  him, 

because  she  hadn't  dare  trust  you  out  of  her 
own  hands.  Well,  it  was  that  evening  that 
the  doctor  staye^l  here  a  great  while,  and 
Mr.  Winterhalter  and  Gates's  mother  —  who 
had  come  on  —  were  both  up  there.  It  was 
very  still  all  over  the  house  —  it  couldn't  be 
otherwise,  you  know,  seeing  that  we  were 
only  just  able  to  be  around  —  and  we  were 
just  going  to  bed  in  the  school-room,  when 
Mr.  Winterhalter  came  in  and  said  that  Gates 
was  dead.  It  was  pretty  sudden  to  us,  and 
the  fellows  were  sober  enough  in  a  minute ; 
and  before  he  went  out.  Mr.  Winterhalter 
said  you  were  but  just  alive  and  we  must 
be  as  still  as  possible.  There  wasn't  a 


GILBERT'S  AWAKENING.  253 

breath  of  noise  after  that,  I  can  tell  you  ! 
The  fellows  all  knew  who  had  taken  care 
of  them,  and  when  they  thought  how  they 
had  treated  you  —  Well,  there  wasn't  any 
laughing  and  joking  for  a  day  or  two.  I  'm 
pretty  certain  that  Torn  Fowler  cried  a  little, 
though  of  course  he  would  deny  the  fact. 
But,  oh  dear  !  "  cried  Ray,  bethinking  him- 
self, "  I  've  tired  you  out,  you  poor  old  fel- 
low !  You  look  fagged  and  sleepy.  I  '11  go 
off  this  minute,  and  then  you  '11  go  to  sleep." 
And  off  he  went,  in  spite  of  his  friend's 
protestations  to  the  contrary.  Gilbert  did 
not  go  to  sleep.  He  lay  thinking  of  his  old 
enemy ;  thinking  and  whispering  gratefully, 
"  I'm  glad  I  didn't  treat  him  as  I  was  tempt- 
ed; I'm  glad  I  didn't  expose  him  to  the 
whole  school !  Xow,  no  one  beside  Ray  and 
I  need  ever  know  what  he  did."  Then  some 
happy  tears  came  in  his  eyes  at  remember- 


254    THE  LAST  SUMMEE  AT  RAINFORD. 

ing  what  Ray  had  said  about  his  old  friends, 
and  their  regard  for  him,  and  he  could  only 
say  gratefully,  "  I  am  glad  !  I  am  glad  !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN." 

"VTOW  that  their  old  captain  was  once  more 
-Ll  able  to  talk  and  think,  Mr.  Winterhalter's 
boys  began  to  grow  impatient  to  see  him. 
The  room  in  which  he  lay  had  already 
grown  to  have  a  certain  air  of  mystery 
ait  it,  —  the  room  in  which  Ray  disap- 
peared every  morning,  to  come  out  only  at 
noon  and  night,  and  where  good  Mrs.  Win- 
terhalter  spent  so  much  of  her  time,  —  and 
besides  this,  the  time  seems  long  and  heavy- 
paced  when  one  is  waiting  to  look  upon  the 
long-hidden  face  of  a  friend,  to  hear  the 
pleasant  sound  of  his  voice,  and  to  feel  the 
clasp  of  his  hand  which  has  almost  been 
frozen  in  death. 


THE   LAST   SUMMER   AT   RAIXFORD. 

So  these  impatient  friends  of  Gilbert's, 
beset  Mr.  Winterhalter,  one  mornning,  plead- 
ing to  be  let  in,  if  only  for  a  minute,  to  "  get 
a  look  at  the  poor  old  captain." 

Mr.  Winterhalter  was  kind  and  pleasant, 
but  said,  "  No  ;  I  must  refuse  for  a  few  days 
longer.  If  I  gave  you  permission  now,  I 
should  be  obliged  to  spoil  all  the  pleasure  by 
forbidding  you  to  speak  to  him.  Wait  till 
he's  a  little  stronger,  and  then  you  may  go 
in  and  talk  as  much  as  you  like." 

"  But  Ray  goes  in  every  day,"  said  tin 
"  and  talks  as  much  as  he  likes." 

aAh,"  said  the  principal,  "but  that  is  a 
different  matter.  Can  you  not  perceive 
that?  But  have  patience  and  you  shall  go 
soon." 

With  this  promise  they  had  to  be  content, 
but  as  the  days  passed  they  fancied  Mr. 
Winterhalter  had  forgotten  all  about  his 
promise,  and  grew  impatient  again. 


"THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN."          257 

u  I  declare,"  Tom  said,  at  dinner,  one  noon, 
"  I  don't  think  we're  treated  fairly,  do  you, 
boys?  Here  Mr.  Winterhalter  promised  we 
might  see  the  captain  in  a  few  days,  and 
that  was  at  least  a  week  ago  day  before 
yesterday.  I'd  like  to  know  what  '  few ' 
means  in  his  dictionary  ?  " 

"  Any  indefinite  period,  probably,"  said  Al 
Turner. 

"  It  meant  just  twenty  in  old  Banger's 
dictionary,  down  at  Roncastle,"  said  Barry 
White.  "  When  he  was  going  to  punish  us 
he  used  to  shout,  '  Come  out  here,  sir,  till  I 
give  you  a  few!' — then  he  always  laid  on 
just  twenty  with  his  rosewood  ferule." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  I  could  stand  that 
better  than  suspense.  I  'd  rather  know  that 
a  few  was  just  twenty,  than  to  be  guessing 
it  was  six  or  eight  or  a  dozen,  or  any  indefi- 
nite period,  as  Al  says.  Anyhow,  I  believe 
Mr.  Wiuterhalter  has  forgotten,  and  the  next 


258        THE   LAST   STJMMEE   AT   RAINFORD. 

time  I  see  him  I  shall  bid  him  —  gently,  but 
firmly,  as  the  story-books  say  —  to  recollect 
himself.  You  needn't  smile,  Ray  Hunter  !  — 
of  course  you  Ve  got  the  advantage  of  us, 
and  of  course  you  know  it.  I  don't  blame 
you,  but  I  'd  like  to  be  in  your  boots,  any- 
how." 

"  You  needn't,"  said  Ray,  contentedly, 
"  and  there's  no  need  of  giving  Mr.  Winter- 
halter  a  reminder.  He  told  me  that  you 
were  all  to  see  Gilbert  this  afternoon.  I 
thought  I  wouldn't  tell  you  before  dinner 
for  fear  of  impairing  your  appetites  — 
they  're  so  very  poor,  already." 

The  boys,  like  all  convalescents,  were 
slightly  voracious. 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  said  Tom,  dropping  knife 
and  fork ;  "  and  we  're  really  to  see  him  this 
afternoon  ?  Well !  " 

This  "  Well ! "  of  Tom's  expressed  a  good 
deal,  and  conversation  dwindled  away  to 


"THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN."  259 

nothing.  Now  that  the  long-looked  for  time 
had  come,  they  were  thinking,  with  much 
inward  trepidation,  what  they  should  say 
when  they  stood  face  to  face  with  the  friend 
they  had  injured.  The  bare  thought  made 
Tom  very  nervous  all  the  rest  of  dinner- 
time ;  and  when  the  meal  was  over  and  the 
rest  were  hurrying  away  in  preparation  to 
"  see  the  captain,"  he  followed  Ray  and 
stopped  him  in  the  hall. 

"  Look  here,"  Tom  said,  getting  Ray  by 
the  button-hole  of  his  blouse,  and  looking 
very  awkward  and  uncomfortable  ;  "  what  on 
earth  can  I  say  to  the  captain  when  I  see 
him  ?  There  won't  be  an  idea  in  my  head  — 
I«  know  there  won't !  And  I  rd  like  to  — 
to  —  to  say  something  about  the  way  I  Ve 
treated  him,  you  know,  and  ask  him  to  for- 
give me.  But  when  I  once  put  eyes  on  him, 
I  shall  stand  there  like  a  great  woodan  block- 
head, without  an  idea  in  my  whole  frame 


260        THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

and  no  hopes  of  getting  one  if  I  was  to  be 
hung  for  it.  Now,  what  can  I  say  ?  " 

"  Say  ?  "  said  Ray,  laughing  a  bit,  in  spite 
of  himself,  "  why,  say  just  what  comes  into 
your  head, — just  what  you  feel !  Tliit's 
all  I  can  tell  you,  so  let  me  go." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  in  evident  despair,  "  I 
shall  make  a  dreadful  muss  of  it,  somehow. 
I  know  I  shall  1 " 

"  But  you  needn't !  "  laughed  Ray.  "  Say 
just  what  you  feel  —  no  matter  how  it 
sounds  —  and  then  it  will  all  be  right." 

It  was  a  little  after  two,  when  Ray  heard 
a  soft  and  rather  hesitating  rap  at  the  study- 
door.  "  They  Ve  come,"  he  said,  under  his 
breath,  to  Gilberf,  and  went  to  the  door,  — 
looking  back  to  nod  and  laugh  at  the  timor- 
ous summons. 

Mrs.  Winterhalter  had  come  in  with  her 
great*  work-basket  and  was  sitting  beside 
Gilbert,  but  finding  that  the  boys  were  with- 


"THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN."          261 

out,  «he  rose  at  once,  knowing  —  kind  heart 
—  that  her  presence  would  be  something  oi 
a   restraint,  upon   the   free    expressions   of 
their  feelings.     As  she  passed.,  out  the  boys 
came  hesitatingly  in. 

The  room  was  a  little  dim,  and  at  first 
their  eyes  were  unused  to  the  subdued  light, 
but  presently  they  perceived  the  captain, 
and  actually  sitting  up !  It  was  the  first 
time,  and  Ray  had  put  the  big  chair  by  one 
of  the  windows,  and  for  half-an-hour  had 
busied  himself  about  his  friend  in  prepara- 
tion for  this  expected  reception.  Now,  as 
the  boys  caught^sight  of  their  old  captain 
among  his  pillows  and  cushions  —  looking 
the  very  shadow  of  the  strong,  healthy 
Gilbert  Starr  they  had  last  seen  —  they 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  faces 
full  of  awe,  and  hearts  very  soft  and  tender, 
for  such  great  sturdy  fellows  as  they.  Si- 
lently they  stood  there  —  as  if  afraid  that 


262        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFOED. 

the  sound  of  their  voices  would  -dispel  the 
vision  in  the  arm-chair  —  and  looked  at  Gil- 
bert and  each  other,  and  then  at  Ray,  till  at 
last  it  was  getting  to  be  very  awkward  and 
embarrassing. 

Then  Ray  said,  with  that  merry  ring  in 
his  tone  which  none  of  the  others  had, 

"  Come,  you  group  of  statuary !  —  you 
matchless  tableau  !  — it's  only  Gilbert ! " 

Fortunately,  this  broke  the  spell,  and  Tom 
remembered  what  he  had  come  for.  Hastily 
stepping  forward  and  regarding  Gilbert  with 
a  mixture  of  expressions  that  any  other  time 
would  have  been  laughable  enough,  he  came 
up  to  his  old  captain's  chair  and  shyly  held 
out  his  hand.  In  an  instant  Gilbert's  own 
white,  wan  one  lay  within  it. 

Tom  looked  down  at  it,  lying  so  weak  and 
helpless  in  his  own  great  brown  hand, 
nought  of  all  that  had  passed,  and  began 
to  choke  and  shake.  Knowing  what  was 


"THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN."          263 

coming  and  striving  vainly  to  avert  it,  and 
feeling,  as  he  afterwards  expressed  it — "like 
a  confounded  great  baby  that  had  lost  its 
mother"  —  he  suddenly  gave  away,  and 
hurriedly  sitting  down  on  the  hassock  by 
Gilbert's  feet,  hid  his  face  in  one  of  the 
cushions.  Here  he  shook  from  head  to  foot, 
though  all  his  sobs  were  smothered  by  the 
friendly  pillows. 

I  think  this  did  more  toward  putting  them 
on  their  old  level  of  happy  friendship  than 
any  words  or  pleadings  for  forgiveness  could 
have  done.  Tom's  warm,  hearty,  honest 
grief  for  past  misdeeds,  spoke  for  them  all. 
He  had,  though  unintentionally,  told  Gilbert 
just  what  he  felt,  as  Ray  advised ;  and  Ray, 
looking  on,  felt  that  Tom  had  done  the  best 
thing  that  could  have  been  done  toward 
restoring  the  broken,  long  trampled-upon 
friendship, 

Gilbert's    gray   eyes   got    very   dim    and 


264   THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

misty,  and  grew  mistier  still  as  one  by  one 
his  old  men  came  forward  'to  take  his  hand. 
They  looked  at  him  with  awe  in  their  faces, 
wondering  all  the  time  why  he  had  brought 
himself  into  the  very  grasp  of  death  for 
their  sake,  and  feeling  half-surprised,  some 
of  them,  that  there  was  no  hint  of  this  high 
courage  and  sacrifice  in  his  face,  —  that  it 
had  not  changed  into  the  face  of  a  martyr, 
or  an  ideal  hero,  or  something  grand  to  look 
upon,  since  the  ordeal  through  which  he  had 
passed. 

But  the  same  old  Gilbert  it  was,  save  the 
thinness,  and  as  he  looked  up  at  them  through 
the  dimness  of  his  kind  eyes,  saying,  "  It's 
pleasant  to  look  at  you  again,  Barry,"  or, 
"I'm  glad  to  see  you  once  more,  Albert," 
they  felt,  somehow,,  as  if  all  the  time  they 
had  had  a  prince  in  disguise  among  them, 
and  that  now  he  had  showed  his  royalty 
they  could  not  be  too  faithful  to  him,  too 


"THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN."          265 

grateful,  nor  too  proud  of  the  heroism  that 
made  him  royal. 

Some  of  them  stooped  to  whisper  in  Gil- 
bert's ear, —  words  that  their  hearts  had 
long  been  aching  to  breathe  to  him.  But 
Tom  still  kept  his  face  hidden  —  of  what  are 
boys  more  ashamed  than  their  tears  ?  — 
though  his  sobbing  was  flPbr.  The  rest  of 
the  boys,  through  with  their  hand-shaking 
and  congratulations,  had  settled  themselves 
around  Gilbert  on  the  chairs,  hassocks,  or 
whatever  afforded  a  seat ;  but  there  sat  Tom, 
immovable  as  a  statue.  But  suddenly,  in 
the  midst  of  their  talk,  he  made  a  desperate 
effort  and  raised  his  head,  hastily  dashed 
away  his  tears,  and  slowly  met  Gilbert's 
eyes.  Gilbert  never  looked  brighter  or 
kinder  than  at  that  moment,  Ray  thought, 
and  poor  Tom  remembered  with  a  pang  the 
look  his  face  had  worn  on  that  long-ago 
Sunday  afternoon. 


266    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

"  Well,  Tom/7  said  Gilbert,  "  I  Ve  told  the 
others  how  glad  I  am  to  see  them.  Now 
may  I  tell  you  ?  " 

Tom  had  yet  such  a  choking  in  his  throat, 
and  was  so  afraid  of  breaking  down  entirely, 
that  he  just  took  Gilbert's  thin  hand  —  press- 
ing it  between  both  of  his  —  and  said  noth- 
ing- • 

"  I  suspect  that  I  Ve  got  you  to  thank," 
continued  Gilbert,  gratefully,  "for  doing  me 
a  great  favor  a  long  time  ago.  Haven't  I  ?  " 
"  Favors  !  "  groaned  Tom ;  "  don't  talk 
to  me  about  favors  unless  you  want  to  kill 
me  entirely." 

"  But  I  can  thank  you  for  this,"  said  Gil- 
bert. "  It  was  a  great  favor.  I  should  have 
lost  my  head-boy's  rank  but  for  it,  and  I 
thank  you  very  much." 

Tom's  eyes  opened  very  wide.  "I  —  I  — 
I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  stam- 
mered ;  "  there's  a  mistake  somewhere,  for  I 


'"  THE   POOR   OLD   CAPTAIN."  267 

haven't  done  you  a  favor  in  more  than  one 
term." 

Gilbert's  turn  came  to  look  surprised. 
"  Why,  you  must  have  forgotten,"  he  said, 
looking  at  Tom ;  "  I  mean  the  packet  of 
papei^  which  you  returned  to  me  —  hid  in 
my  bed  —  just  in  time  to  save  me  from 
losing  my  rank." 

The  blank  look  of  astonishment  on  Tom's 

* 
face   at  once   showed   Gilbert  that   he   had 

made  a  mistake.  He  looked  at  Ray  in  sur- 
prise, then  dropped  his  eyes  upon  the  cover- 
let, feeling  that  if  he  looked  around  at  the 
faces  of  his  companions  he  should  discover 
something  which  it  was  much  better  to 
leave  undiscovered ;  but  Ray,  who  sat  a 
little  in  the  shadow  of  his  friend's  chair,  saw 
that  Albert  Turner's  face  flushed  crimson. 
Nothing  more  was  said  about  the  matter 
then. 

They  spent  the  time  very  happily  till  the 


268        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  BAINFOBD. 

study-clock  struck  four,  and  then  Mr.  Win- 
terhalter  came  in  and  said  that,  considering 
the  manner  in  which  Gilbert's  eyes  drooped 
and  cheeks  flushed,  it  was  desirable  that 
their  visit  should  draw  to  a  close. 

They  were  a  good  many  minutes  in  ,-^aking 
leave,  and  Ray  went  away  with  them  to  give 
his  friend  an  opportunity  to  go  to  sleep. 

Hardly  had   Gilbert  closed  his   eyes,  when 

•i 

somebody  brushed  lightly  past  his  chair  and 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Supposing 
it  to  be  Mrs.  Winterhalter,  he  was  greatly 
surprised  on  looking  up,  to  find  Albert 
Turner  standing  there. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  surprised,"  said 
Gilbert's  old  secretary,  "  but  I  couldn't  tell 
you  before  the  rest.  It  was  I  who  returned 
your  papers." 

"  You  ! "  said  Gilbert. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  helped  rob  you."  Gilbert 
looked  incredulous.  "  Oh,  but  it's  true  1 " 


"  THE  POOR  OLD   CAPTAIN."  269 

said  Turner,  turning  his  eyes  away.  "  I  did 
it  to  rob  you.  I  meant  to  do  it.  I  haven't 
any  excuse."  What  could  Gilbert  say  to 
this  ?  "  But  when  I  saw  what  a  fellow  it 
would  t>e  the  means  of  putting  in  your 
place,  I  couldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
it  any  longer.  I  —  I  hated  him  for  getting 
me  into  the  plot.  But  he's  dead,  now,  and  — 
and  I  wish,  sometimes,  I  was  dead  with 
him." 

Then  Gilbert  spoke. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

Albert  mado  no  reply,  and  kept  his  face 
averted.  Gilbert  knew  that  he  wanted  to 
crave  forgiveness,  and  that  either  a  high 
pride  or  emotion  kept  him  silent;  and  at 
last  Albert's  old  captain  said,  "  It's  a  dread- 
ful thing  for  a  fellow  to  carry  about  such 
a  load  with  him,  feeling  every  moment 
weighed  down  with  shame  and  meanness. 
I  know  what  it  is,  Al." 


270        THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

"  You  !  "  said  Turner  ;  "  how  can  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  about  Mr.  Winterhalter's  flag. 
You  remember  how  we  won  that  unfairly  ? 
Well,  it  stung  me  week  after  week,  just 
as  I  think  this  stings  you." 

Albert's  proud  face  drooped  on  his  shoul- 
der a  little.  This  evil  had  stung  him.  Now 
it  seemed  quite  unfortunate  that  Mr.  Winter- 
halter  should  come  in  at  that  moment,  look- 
ing slightly  displeased  at  finding  Turner 
there,  and  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  go 
away  without  another  word  upon  the  sub- 
ject. But  the  next  time  Gilbert  saw  him, 
he  came  into  the  study  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  he  said  at  once. 
There  is  no  need  of  writing  Gilbert's  an- 
swer. "  I  ought  to  have  asked  you  before," 
Albert  said,  "  when  I  had  that  good  chance  ; 
but  it  stuck  in  my  throat,  somehow,  and  I 
couldn't  say  it.  I  don't  expect  you  '11  trust 
me  as  you  did  before,  but  you  're  not  to 
blama  for  that." 


"THE  POOR  OLD  CAPTAIN."          271 

To  which  Gilbert  answered,  "  Only  wait 
and  see,  before  you  decide." 

Some  quiet,  pleasant  days  followed  this, 
in  which  Gilbert  gained  strength  and  activi- 
ty very  fast.  They  had  him  in  the  garden 
soon,  rolling  him  up  and  down  the  gravel- 
walks  in  the  big  study-chair,  and  from  that 
he  went  to  using  his  feet  in  short  walks 
along  the  paths,  leaning  on  Ray's  shoulder 
the  while. 

Preparations  were  going  forward  for  the 
re-opening  of  school,  and  already  the  old, 
long-absent  pupils  began  to  return ;  and  on 
the  last  evening  that  was  left  of  this  long, 
sad  vacation,  Gilbert  and  Ray  were*slowly 
pacing  down  the  long  central  walk  of  the 
garden  which  led  them  at  last  out  to  a  wide 
terrace  full  of  shrubbery,  and  with  a  lookout 
upon  the  far-stretching  picture  that  hill  and 
valley  made.  The  sun  had  just  hidden  its 
splendid  face  behind  Riverside,  but  afar  on 


272        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RATOFORD. 

hill  and  mountain-top  its  light  quivered 
and  gleamed  —  loth  to  leave  the  happy 
earth.  Far  and  smooth  stretched  the  beryl- 
tinted  meadows  to  the  foot  of  the  soft  gray 
hill-barrier,  through  which  the  winding  river 
cut  its  path  to  the  sea,  and  wherever  the 
eye  turned,  all  the  land  smiled  warm  and 
peaceful  and  golden  up  to  the  summer  sky. 

As  Ray  and  Gilbert  came  out  to  this  look- 
But  upon  an  enchanted  land,  voices  met 
them,  and  presently  Gilbert  saw  Tom  and 
the  remainder  of  the  Boat  Club  coming  up 
the  terrace-walk,  and  what  seemed  very 
strange,  they  were  all  in  their  scarlet  jackets 
as  if  bound  for  a  boat-race.  Then  he  sud- 
denly noted  that  Ray  had  on  his  uniform, 
too. 

Ray  paused,  according  to  a  concerted 
plan,  doubtless,  and  the  Club  came  up. 
Tom  stepped  out  from  their  midst,  and 
suddenly  caught  Gilbert  as  if  he  intended 


"  THE   POOR   OLD    CAPTAIN."  273 

to  carry  out  a  premeditated  assault,  and 
wnat  was  stranger  still,  Ray  offered  no 
resistance,  but  stood  looking  on  very  con- 
tentedly. 

Then  Tom  said,  in  his  hearty,  blunt 
manner,  "  We  don't  mean  that  gold,  or  any 
thing  like  it,  can  show  what  we  feel  toward 
you,  but  we'd  just  like  you  to  wear  this, 
if  you  will,  —  partly  to  show  our  liking, 
and  partly  to  tell  you  that  we  want  to  make 
you  our  captain  again,  —  that  is,  if  you'll 
consent  to  command  such  a  set  of  fellows. 
Say,  will  you  ?  " 

This  conclusion  was  not  quite  according 
to  the  programme,  but  it  answered  very 
well,  and  served  to  show  what  was  upper- 
most in  Tom's  mind ;  and  as  he  stepped 
back  there  shone  on  Gilbert's  breast  a 
golden  C,  cunningly  twisted  through  a  pair 
of  tiny  oars,  —  "  to  show  our  liking,"  and  the 
badge  of  his  restored  rank.  What  do  you 


274   THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

suppose  was  Gilbert's  answer?  Then  they 
moved  slowly  back  to  the  house,  very  happy 
indeed,  and  not  very  quiet  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS. 

nCHOOL  was  reopened  on  the  first  day  of 
•  U  the  first  autumn  month,  —  not  for  a  new 
term,  but  to  finish  the  one  whose  best  days 
had  been  so  sadly  marred  by  the  fever. 
Once  more  familiar  faces  were  to  be  seen 
everywhere,  with  here  and  there  a  new  one. 
The  lawn,  at  play-time,  was  covered  with 
boys  whose  shouts  and  merry-making  were 
not  unpleasant  to  hear,  after  the  silence  and 
loneliness  that  had  clung  so  long  about 
the  great  school-buildings  and  the  pleasant 
grounds.  The  halls  echoed,  the  stairs  were 
noisy  with  climbing  feet,  and  in  garden, 
school-room,  and  the  long  eating-hall,  there 

275 


276    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

was  the  pleasant  stir  of  life  again, —  a  pleas- 
ant, happy  life  they  thought  it. 

Studies  were  taken,  up  where  the  fever 
had  broken  them  off,  and  though  no  one 
hoped  to  pass  such  a  successful  examina- 
tion as  might  have  been  passed  but  for  the 
interruption  in  the  middle  of  the  term,  yet 
most  of  Mr.  Winterhalter's  boys  went  to 
work  in  a  quiet,  persevering  way  that  was 
quite  satisfactory  to  the  head  of  the  school. 
But  this  interruption  of  studies,  that  had 
"  taken  a  great  slice  out  of  the  summer," 
as  Tom  Fowler  said,  interfered  more  serious- 
ly with  the  plans  of  the  First  Class.  They 
were  to  graduate  at  the  end  of  the  term, 
and  of  course  wished  to  do  so  with  honor ; 
but  with  that  great  gap  to  bridge  over  in 
one  short  month,  —  well,  the  prospect  of 
a  brilliant  examination  was  not  remarkably 
bright.  But  as  this  was  nothing  for  which 
they  were  in  fault,  they  settled  down  to 


MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS.  277 

books  and  hard  work,  bound  to  do  as  well 
as  possible,  and  let  the  brilliancy  take  care 
of  itself. 

Gilbert  took  up  his  books  once  more,  and 
felt  as  one  feels  to  get  among  long-absent 
friends ;  and  now,  as  day  after  day  passed, 
he  began  to  think  of  the  near-approach  of 
the  last  day  of  the  term,  —  the  last  day 
he  was  to  spend  in  the  dear,  pleasant  build- 
ing which  had  grown  to  be  home  to  him. 
No  other  place,  he  thought,  could  ever  be 
like  Rainford  to  him ;  no  friends  like  the 
Winterhalters ;  no  other  spot  in  the  wide 
earth  such  a  home. 

The  great  building  had  sheltered  him 
since  he  was  a  little  eleven-year-old  boy. 
It  was  the  only  real  home  he  had  ever 
known,  and  every  nook  and  corner  were  as 
dear  and  familiar  to  him  as  the  home-haunts 
of  other  boys  are  to  them.  The  Winterhal- 
ters were  like  kind  parents.  Do  you  won- 


278        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

der,  then,  that  lie  looked  forward  to  the  time 
of  leaving  Raiuford  and  these  friends  with 
regret  ? 

Ray  and  he  were  talking  the  matter  over, 
and  Gilbert  said,  with  a  shadow  on  his  face, 
"  This  place  has  got  to  be  home  to  me, —  I 
didn't  know  how  much  of  a  home  till  I 
began  to  think  of  going.  Just  think,  I  've 
been  here  since  I  was  ten — eleven  years 
old,  and  now  I  am  a  long  way  past  seven- 
teen ;  and  I  haven't  spent  a  vacation  away 
from  Rainford  in  the  whole  time,  except  the 
one  I  took  with  you.  Do  you  wonder  that 
it's  like  pulling  up  one's  tent  to  pitch  — 
well,  that's  the  question  —  where  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  '11  go  to  college,  of  course," 
said  Ray ;  "  that's  decided  already,  and  all 
you  've  got  to  do  ft  to  decide  which  it  shall 
be." 

"  Well,  that's  not  the  easiest  matter  in 
the  world,"  said  Gilbert. 


MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS.       279 

"Of  course  not;  but  then,  you  needn't 
be  very  particular.  You  '11  get  LL.  D.  and 
Dr.  Phil,  tacked  oa  to  your  name  before  we 
know  it." 

"  I  Ve  been  here  a  long,  long  time,"  said 
Gilbert,  musingly,  "  and  the  fellows  that 
were  in  the  First  Class,  when  I  came  and 
was  way  down  in  the  Fourth,  are  twenty-five 
or  six,  now,  and  got  boys  of  their  own." 

"  Well,"  said  Ray,  "  don't  go  to  scraping 
in  the  'ashes  of  the  ancient  past,'  —  not 
just  yet.  "Wait  a  bit,  and  let's  talk  about 
the  college.  Now  Eaiaford  isn't  half  as 
much  to  me  as  to  you,  and  I'd  rather,  on  the 
whole,  be  in  a  university  than  here.  I  only 
wish  I  was  sure,  as  you  are,  that  I  eould 
enter."  * 

"  Aren't  you?  "  said  Gilbert. 

"  No ;  father  hasn't  said  a  word  to  me 
about  ^,  yet.  But  then,  there's  no  telling 
anything  by  that.  He  won't  speak  till  the 


280   THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

last  minute,  and  when  he  does  he'll  think 
twenty  minutes  are  as  good  as  a  month 
to  decide  in." 

"  But  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  wants  me  to  go,  I  think ;  and  go 
I  shall  if  she  says  the  word,  because  she 
won't  speak  till  she's  sure  of  what  father 
thinks.  And  if  she  does  once  speak,  it  will 
be  to  have  me  go  where  you  do ! ;;  Ray 
added,  jubilantly. 

"  Sure  ?  "  smiled  Gilbert. 

"  Yes !  that  is  all  certain,  if  some  other 
things  aren't.  Mother  will  send  me  off 
under  your  wing,  confident  that  I  shall 
come  out  straight  without  fail.  So  I  shall ! " 
Ray  exclaimed,  dropping  his  book,  and 

whirling  about  on  one  boot-heel  with  a  chair 

• 
spinning  on  one  leg  for  an  accompaniment. 

"  Are  any  of  the  other  fellows  in  our  class 
going  ?  "  Gilbert  asked. 
"I    don't    know;    they   don't,  I    believe. 


MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS.       281 

Turner  hasn't  decided,  and  Tom  —  well,  to 
tell  the  truth,  the  great  honest  fellow  doesn't 
care  enough  for  books  to  go  any  further. 
He  says  he's  dumb-founded  to  think  that 
he's  actually  going  to  graduate  this  term." 

Gilbert  laughed  a  little,  took  up  his  books, 
and  began  studying ;  and  so  the  question 
was  no  nearer  a  decision  than  it  had  been 
a  dozen  times  before.  But  an  evening  or 
two  after  this,  the  important  question  of 
where  the  tent  should  be  pitched  came  near 
being  finally  decided. 

Ray  bounced  into  the  Club  chamber, 
where  nearly  all  the  class  were  studying 
their  lessons,  with  a  packet  of  letters  from 
the  mail-bag  which  had  just  been  opened  in 
the  hall  below. 

"  A  letter  for  each  one  of  us,  except  Bob 
Upham,"  he  cried  out,  tossing  the  buff  and 
white  enveloped  missives  to  their  respective 
owners;  "and  here's  two  for  you,  and  one 


282    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

for  me,  Gilbert,"  he  added,  as  he,  came  to 
their  table.  "That's  about  your  proportion 
of  every  good  thing, — just  double  the  quan- 
tity of  mine." 

"  This  is  from  my  guardian,  Mr.  Steuben, 
—  I  know  his  handwriting,"  Gilbert  said, 
taking  up  one  of  the-  letters.  "  He  always 
writes  me  one  letter  a  term,  never  any  more, 
never  any  less;  and  then  feels  that  he  has 
done  his  duty,  I  suppose." 

Then  he  tore  open  the  envelope,  while 
Ray  looked  on,  saying,  "  I  wonder  if  there's 
anything  about  leaving  Mr.  Winterhalter's, 
in  it  ?  " 

This  was  what  he  found  in.  Mr.  Steuben's 
big  round  handwriting,  and  read  aloud  to 
Ray,  —  both  putting  their  heads  together 
over  the  study-table : 

* 

"  SOUTHFIELD,  SEP.  15. 

To  GILBERT  STARR  : 
I  have  a  rather  indistinct  recollection  of 


MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS.       283 
+ 

receiving  a  letter  from  you  some  time  last 
spring,  informing  me  that  this  was  to  be 
your  last  term  at  Mr.  Winte'rhalter's — " 
"  There  !  "  said  Ray,  in  a  whisper,  "  it's 
coining ! "  — "  or  in  other  words  that  you  were 
to  graduate  this  fall.  This  being  the  case, 
1  suppose  it  is  best  that  you  should  begin 
to  consider  what  school  or  college  you  are 
next  to  enter.  If  you  are  prepared*  to  enter 
college  at  once,  you  have  only  to  decide 
which  of  the  many  in  the  land  you  prefer, 
as  I  have  no  choice  for  you.  If  you  are  not 
yet  ready,  there  is  a  good  opportunity  to 
enter  the  school  at  Framwick,  where  you 
could  probably  soon  fit  yourself  to  enter  a 
university.  I  hope  you  will  make  the  de- 
cision ere  long,  and  communicate  the  same 
to  me.  I  enclose  a  check,  payable  to  your 
order,  which  I  think  will  cover  all  your  ex- 
penses at^lr.  Winterhalter's.  If  not,  you 
must  inform  me. 


284    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  BAINFORD. 

• 

Perhaps,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  it  is  now 
nearly  seven  years  since  you  entered  school, 
and  have  fiot,  during  that  period,  spent  a 
vacation  in  Southfield,  you  would  like  to 
spend  the  coming  one  with  us. 
Respectfully, 

N.  P.  STEUBEN." 

"  What  a  man  ! "  said  Ray,  indignantly, 
as  the  letter  was  folded  up  ;  "  he  don't  give 
you  an  invitation  to  come  and  see  him,  but 
says  perhaps  you'd  like  to.  Of  course  you  '11 
do  no  such  thing  ! " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gilbert,  gravely ; 
"  I  'd  like  to  see  Southfield  once  more,  and 
Mr.  Steuben  —  a  little." 

<'  Now ! "  cried  Ray,  getting  out  of  his 
chair  with  indignation,  "  now,  you  Gilbert 
Starr  !  That's  a  pretty  way  to  be  changing 
the  programme  —  at  this  late  day,  when  I  'd 
got  my  mind  made  up  to  take  you  home 


MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS.        285 

with  me,  when  mother  and  father  will  expect 
you,  and  when  you  know  it's  the  very  thing 
I  Ve  been  looking  forward  to  for  a  whole 
year.  Now  if  you  '11  go  to  serving  me  like 
that,  and  go  off  to  that  dMl,  out-of-the-way 
Southfield  to  spend  vacation  with  aii  un- 
heard of  Mr.  Steuben  that  don't  care  a  cop- 
per for  you  —  I  '11  —  I  '11  —  " 

"You'll  what?"  said  Gilbert;  "there 
must  be  some  dreadful  penalty  on  the  end 
of  that  long  supposition." 

"Well,  I  shall  think  hard  of  you,"  said 
Ray,  trying  to  look  his  grimest. 

Gilbert  tore  open  his  second  letter,  and 
while  lost  in  surprise  at  what  he  found 
therein,  Ray,  who  had  been  hastily  skimming 
over  the  contents  of  his  own  home-letter, 
thrust  the  missive  under  his  eyes,  exclaim- 
ing triumphantly,  "  It's  just  as  I  said.  Read 
what  mother  says."  And  so  perforce,  Gil- 
bert was  obliged  to  read  :  "  Tell  Gilbert  that 


286    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

under  no  consideration  must  he  think  of 
spending  his  vacation  elsewhere  than  with 
you  and  with  us.  We  shall  expect  him,  and 
feel  disappointed  if  he  does  not  come." 

"  There/'  said^ay,  eloquently,  "  will  you 
disappoint  her  ?  " 

"  No  —  perhaps  —  really,  Ray,  I  'm  think- 
ing of  something  else,  or  trying  to.  I  've 
got  a  letter  from  —  from  —  Well,  I  doubt 
my  very  eyes  !  " 

"  Private  ?  "  asked  Ray. 

"Not  to  you,"  said  Gilbert.  Then  they 
both  read  together  : 


ce,  ) 
.      j 

MY  DEAR  STARR  : 

I  hope  you  have  not  forgotten  those  little 
hints  which  I  dropped  upon  examination-day 
at  Mr.  Winterhalter's.  I  told  that  good  gen- 
tlemen, at  the  time,  that  we  wanted  you  at 
our  college,  and  informed  him,  in  a  round- 


MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS.       287 

about  way,  that  he  must  use  his  influence 
in  our  behalf;  but,  fearing  he  has  not  done 
so,  I  send  you  this  little  note  as  a  reminder 
of  what  was  said  at  that  time.  I  think  he 
told  me  that  you  had  no  parents  living,  and 
would  probably  be  free  to  make  your  own 
choice  of  universities.  If  this  is  the  case, 
do  not  decide  without  considering  the  claims 
which  our  ancient,  elm-shadowed  institution 
presents  to  all  who  wish  a  solid,  thorough 
education.  Do  not  imagine  that  I  am  beg- 
ging for  the  college,  —  we  are  already  full 
to  overflowing,  —  for  it  is  you  that  I  wish 
to  benefit.  I  want  you  here,  will  give  you 
a  good  welcome,  and  hope  I  may  have  that 
pleasure  soon. 

Yours  truly, 

BAINSLEY." 


"  Professor  Bainsley  1  "  cried  Ray,  as  he 
came  to  the  conclusion.    Then  he  sat  down 


288    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  KAINFORD. 

and  stared  at  his  friend  with  a  very  blank 
face. 

"Well?"   said   Gilbert,  after   he  had   re 

turned  Ray's  stare  for  about  five  minutes. 

* 

"  Yale  !  and  a  letter  from  a  professor ! " 
gasped  Ray. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you're  not  astonished  ?  —  not  gone 
1  clean  daft,'  as  the  Scotch  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  am  astonished  !  "  said  Gilbert  j 
and  his  face  showed  it. 

"  Astonished  !  —  that  doesn't  express  my 
sensations.  I  feel  as  Tom  Fowler  did  when 
he  got  to  sleep  in  service,  and  woke  up  to 
find  the  lamps  out  and  himself  locked  in  — 
1  dreadful  tumbled  up,  you  know,  somehow.' 
But,"  added  Ray  —  his  face  beginning  to 
shine  with  deljjjat  at  his  friend's  good  for- 
tune — "  you  deserve  it,  and  I  'm  glad  for 
you,  old  fellow." 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  two  talking 


MOSTLY  ABOUT   LETTERS. 

so  much  about  ? "  said  Turner,  from  his 
study-table ;  "  I  should  think  you  'd  never 
finish  your  letters." 

"  I  know  !  "  said  Ray  ;  "  Gilbert's  such  a 
bother  —  interrupts  me  —  sticks  his  letter 
into  my  face  —  looks  over  my  shoulder  — 
gets  my  news,  and  don't  give  me  a  minute's 
peace.  I  bear  with  him,  though." 

Then  they  put  their  letters  away  and  took 
up  their  bookspbut  Ray  was  so  excited  and 
jubilant  over  the  professor's  letter,  that 
studying  was  not  an  easy  matter.  He 
wanted  to  hit  Gilbert's  elbow  continually, 
and  ask  him  if  this  letter  had  not  decided 
the  question  of  colleges  entirely ;  but  as 
Gilbert  was  deep  in  his  books,  forbore. 
Several  days  more  of  the  fast-flitting  month 
passed,  and  though  Gilbert  put  off  answer- 
ing both  his  guardian's  and  Professor  Bains- 
ley's  letter,  wanting  time  to  think  *  of  it,  as 
he  said,  yet  Ray  was  confident  that,  in  his 


290        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

own  mind,  Gilbert  had  decided  for  the  elm- 
shadowed  college.  Just  here  something 
occurred  to  change  the  subject  of  discus- 
sion, and  for  a  few  days  colleges  and  pro- 
fessors were  little  thought  about. 

Tom  Fowler  came  up  the  lawn  one  twi- 
light, just  back  from  a  walk .  to  Rainford, 
where  he  had  met  Forrest  of  the  Riverside 

school. 

• 

"  You  're  just  the  two  feUows  I  want 
see,"  said  he,  his  brown  face  lit  up  with 
enthusiasm,  as  he  came  on  the  piazza  where 
Gilbert  and  Al  Turner  stood.  "  What  do 
you  think  is  up  ?  Why,  I  met  Forrest  up  in 
town  and  he  wanted  me  to  ask  you  to  race, 
—  race  with  the  two  dear  old  boats  that 
we  have  hardly  stepped  into  this  summer. 
Wouldn't  you  like  it,  Captain  ?  —  wouldn't 
you,  Al  ?  We  've  all  got  to  leave  pretty 
quick,  you  know,  and  then  the  boats  pass 
into  the  fellows'  hands  that  take  our  places. 


MOSTLY  ABOUT  LETTERS.       291 

Who  knows  we  '11  ever  have  a  chance  to 
handle  an  oar  again,  or  feel  the  old  river 
swelling  under  us  ? "  Tom  added,  with  a 
strong  sensation  of  choking  in  his  throat. 
Turner  was  silent,  waiting  for  Gilbert  to 
speak. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DID   THE  SUMMER   TEACH  ANYTHING? 

WELL,"  said  Gilbert,  "  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant.    I  'd  like  to  race  above  all  things ; 
but  isn't  the  <  Triton '  laid  up  ?  " 

"  No  !  and  you  may  thank  me  for  that !  " 
said  Torn,  eagerly.  "  I  went  down  to  the 
boat-house  the  other  day,  and  there  was  the 
poor  old  thing  dry  as  a  cork ;  and  thinking 
I  'd  have  one  more  float  before  I  went  — just 
for  the  sake  of  old  times  —  I  put  it  afloat  to 
be  ready  for  some  Saturday.  So  we're  in 
luck  !  for  when  I  came  along,  just  now,  I 
stopped  to  look,  and  the  '  Triton '  was  as 
sound  and  snug  as  a  nut." 

292 


DID  THE  SUMMER  TEACH   AXYTHIXG  ?     293 

"  If  that-  is  so,"  said  Gilbert,  "  we  '11  race. 
I  'd  like  to  very  much.  Wouldn't  you,  Al  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  after  practise,"  said  the  secretary. 

"  Of  course  we  shall  practise,"  put  ia 
Tom ;  "  we  haven't  handled  an  oar  in  so 
long." 

Ray  joined  -them  just  then.  "  What's 
up  ?  "  said  he. 

"  A  race  ! "  said  Tom ;  "  a  genuine,  old- 
fashioned  race,  with  Gilbert  for  captain  and 
Forrest  for  a  rival.  Doesn't  that  seem  natu- 
ral?" 

"  Yes,  that's  good !  And  when  is  it  to 
be?" 

"  That's  what  we  haven't  talked  about," 
said  Gilbert.  "What  did  Forrest  say, 
Tom  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  wasn't  particular ;  any  time 
toward  the  last  few  days  we're  to  be  here. 
Only,  when  you've  decided,  he'd  like  to 
know." 


294        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

"  Yes ;  and  Al  shall  write  a  note,"  said 
Gilbert* 

Then,  after  a  little  more  talk  about  the 
day  which  would  be  best  for  the  race,  they 

answered    the    bell's    call   and    went   in    to 

• 
supper. 

The  coming  event  seemed  to  revive  all 
tJieir  old  fondness  for  boating.  What  time 
could  possibly  be  spared  from  books  —  it 
was  not  a  great  deal  —  they  spent  in  the 
'  Triton '  on  the  river,  and  there  was  much 
need  of  the  practise  if  they  had  any  inten- 
tion of  being  the  victors.  Such  a  long  time 
it  had  been  since  they  had  pulled  together, 
that  muscles  were  found  to  have  grown 
surprisingly  weak,  and  arms  and  backs  had 
a  way  of  aching  that  astonished  their  pos- 
sessors. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we'll  do,"  Tom  sighed, 
"  when  we  get  where  there's  no  river  and  no 
boat.  I  expect  that  w.e  shall  grow  into  a 


DID   THE  SUMMER  TEACH   ANYTHING?     295 

r» 

parcel  of  weak-backed,  small-muscled  fellows, 
anyhow." 

This  boat  practise,  and  their  books,  kept 
them  busy  enough,  and  made  the  days 
seem  very  short.  Altogether  too  fast,  they 
thought,  the  days  hurried  on  to  examination 
week,  and  the  time  when  they  were  to  leave 
Raiuford,  the  boats,  the  river,  and  their 

books  forever. 

• 

Mr.  "Winterhalter  called  Gilbert  into  the 
study  one  morning,  to  ask  him  when  the 
proposed  race  was  to  come  off. 

"  The  afternoon  of  examination-day,"  said 
Gilbert,  —  "  after  we  're  through  with  the 
exercises." 

"Will  not  the  day  after  do  as  well?" 
asked  the  principal. 

"  Hardly,"  the  captain  answered,  "  because 
most  of  us  start  for  home.  But  if  you  ob- 
ject— » 

"No,  no,   Gilbert,-  I  •don't  object  to   the 


296    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  KAINFORD. 

race,"  said  Mr.  Winterhalter,  quickly  ;  "  it's 
having  so  much  done  on  examination-day 
that  I  don't  like.  I  am  afraid  that  either  the 
exercises  will  crowd  upon  the  time  set  for 
the  race,  or  vice  versa.  Now  what  would 
you  say  to  taking  the  afternoon  before  ?  " 

"  But  our  lessons  !  —  we  're  in  the  school- 
room, you  know,  at  that  time/7  said  Gilbert. 

"  Not  if  I  excuse  you,"  said  Mr.  Winter- 
halter,  "  as  I  think  I  had  better." 

"  We  shall  like  the  plan,  of  course,"  said 
Gilbert,  smiling  ;  "  but  you  —  " 

"Well/  interrupted  Mr.  Winterhalter, 
with  something  like  a  sigh,  "  I  can  afford  to 
be  lenient,  I  think,  seeing  that  I  am  not  to 
have  another  oppotrunity  to  do  you  a  favor. 
You  can  have  next  Thursday  afternoon." 

Gilbert  thanked  him,  and  went  away  to 
tell  the  good  news  and  send  a  message  to 
Forrest  announcing  the  change  of  time. 

Thursday  morning  to  everybody's  disap- 


DID   THE  SUMMER  TEACH  ANYTHING  ?    297 

pointment,  dawned  gray  and  moist  with  rain, 
and  there  were  some  anxious  faces  on  both 
sides  the  river ;  but  toward  noon,  to  their 
delight  and  surprise,  the  heavy  clouds  drift- 
ed off  into  the  south-east,  and  the  sun  came 
out  broad,  full  and  hearty.  At  noon,  as  the 
Boat  Club  left  their  lessons  and  went  to  put 
on  their  uniforms,  you  would  never  sus- 
pected the  day  to  have  brought  mist  and 
shower  at  its  dawning. 

Now,  though  this  may  not  be  pleasant  to 
you  who  remember  the  crowd  and  the  ex- 
citement that  attended  last  summer's  races 
between  the  two  schools,  this  race  was  to 
be  private,  in  a  measure,  as  no  one  outside 
of,  and  but  few  within  the  schools,  knew 
that  it  was  to  take  place. 

Forrest  and  Gilbert  were  now  too  strong 
friends  to  be  the  bitter  rivals  that  they  had 
been  on  the  previous  summer,  and,  as  For- 
rest said,  "  We  're  just  having  this  for  our 


298        THE  LAST   SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

own.  comfort,  without  any  crowd  or  speeches 
or  bother  to  it."  Forrest  had  a  friend  —  "  as 
honorable  as  can  be  "  —  he  declared  to  Gil- 
bert, who  would  act  as  judge,  and  to  this 
proposition  Captain  Starr  assented,  with  a 
faith  in  his  rival's  integrity  that  was  pleasant 
to  see. 

As  Gilbert  and  his  men  went  down  the 
lawn  to  the  boat-house  about  two  o'clock, 
they  saw  that  Forrest  and  his  crew  were 
already  at  their  place  upon  the  river. 

"  Their  time,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  must  be  faster  than  ours,"  said  Gilbert, 
looking  at  his  watch,  "  for  it's  only  two,  and 
we  were  not  to  start  till  ten  minutes  past. 
However,  we'll  push  off." 

Forrest's  men  gave  them  a  salute  as  they 
came  alongside,  and  Forrest  said  to  Gilbert, 
"  Do  your  best  and  beat  us,  my  dear  fellow  ! 
We'll  take  anything  from  you,  this  afternoon 
—  except  a  tip-over.  This  is  my  friend, 


DID   THE   SUMMER   TEACH   ANYTHING  ?    299 

Walter  Kenyon,  in  the  judge's  boat.  Ken- 
3'on,  this  is  Captain  Starr."  The  two  shook 
hands  over  their  boat's  side ;  and  then,  at  the 
word,  the  rival  boats  started  down  stream. 

No  sunnier  day  had  the  year  seen  —  none 
more  pure  or  cloudless.  A  faint  breeze 
fluttered  seaward.  Gilbert,  in  the  midst  of 
his  watchful  seconds,  remembered  two  other 
days  like  this  —  only  in  the  middle  of  sum- 
mer—  when  a  little  figure  sat  watching  him 
from  shore,  —  a  little  figure  that  now  slum- 
bered up  in  the  quiet  brow  of  Riverside, 
unconscious  of  the  busy  hum  below,  the 
river's  merry  ripple,  and  the  down.gliding 
of  the  happy-heated  racers. 

He  had  to  put  this  remembrance  away  as 
speedily  as  possible,  and  turn  his  face  reso- 
lutely toward  the  point  for  which  they  were 
making,  down  where  the  river  flashed  into 
dazzling  radiance  like  a  mirror  turned  in  the 
sunlight. 


300        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

*  They  bad  got  more  than  half-way  down, 
with  no  perceptible  advantage  on  the  side 
of  either  boat,  when  suddenly  Forrest  cried 
out,  "  Stop  !  we  ?re  crippled  !  " 

Gilbert  looked,  saw  Forrest  and  his  men 
making  vain  snatches  at  an  oar  that  was 
dancing  lightly  away  on  the  ripples,  while 
their  boat  swung  half-around,  and  gave  word 
for  his  crew  to  stop.  "When  they  did  come 
to  a  standstill  the  "  Triton "  was  many 
lengths  ahead  of  its  rival. 

"  Now  here's  a  pretty  go ! "  said  Tom, 
with  an  impatient  face,  as  he  rested  on  his 
oars. 

"  Turn,  and  go  back,"  said  Gilbert,  quick- 
ly; and  presently  they  were  alongside  the 
"  Mermaid." 

Forrest  was  biting  his  lips  and  trying  to 
hold  his  temper,  and  as  they  came  up  said 
not  a  word. 

"  Well,"  said  Gilbert,  not  without  some 
vexation  in  his  tone,  "  this  is  unfortunate  !  " 


DID  TEE  SUMMER  TEACH   ANYTHING?      301 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  happened  ! "  said  the 
fellow  who  had  lost  his  oar;  "the  first  I 
knew  it  was  adrift  and  out  of  my  reach." 

Forrest  looked  as  if  he  thought  this  a 
most  miserable  excuse  and  wished  to  say  so. 
For  a  minute  there  was  silence  —  save  the 
musical  gurgle  of  water  round  the  prow  of 
the  "  Triton  "  —  while  disappointment  and 
vexation  settled  upon  all  faces.  The  long- 
looked  for  race  to  end  like  this  !  —  all  their 
.afternoon's  pleasure  to  be  spoiled  by  such  a 
foolish,  awkward  mishap ! 

Then  Gilbert,  seeing  how  matters  were 
going  to  go,  said,  "Of  course  you  won't 
think  of  racing  now,  —  with  one  oar  gone." 

"  No,"  said  Forrest,  gloomily. 

"  "Well,  seeing  that  we  can't  help  ourselves, 
let's  keep  on  down  to  the  Island,  land,  and 
finish  the  <lay  there.  Then  we'll  not  lose 
our  boating  —  it's  quite  a  pull  down  there, 
you  know  —  and  we  all  want  to  visit  the 


302    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFOP.D. 

Island  before  we  go.  And  we  may  have  a 
first-rate  time,  after  all,"  added  Gilbert, 
brightly. 

Forrest  looked  up  gratefully,  but  not  more 
gratefully  than  the  fellow  who  had  been  so 
unfortunate  as  to  lose  his  oar,  and  who  felt 
as  if  all  his  companions  regarded  him  as  the 
cause  of  their  disappointment. 

"  Well/'  said  the  captain  of  the  Riverside 
school,  "'I  agree  to  that.  No  one  but  you, 
Starr,  would  have  thought  of  mending  up 
the  trip  in  this  style.  Now,  if  I  can  only 
make  Walter  understand,  and  have  him  come 
down,  too,  we'll  go  on  first-rate." 

But  Kenyon,  who  had  seen  this  balk  in 
the  race,  was  already  coming  down  to  them. 

The  Island  was  a  long  way  down  the 
river, —  at  least  half-a-mile  below  the  point 
where  the  race-boats  turned  to  gp  back.  It 
lay  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  just  where 
the  stream  began  to  narrow  and  sweep 


DID   THE  SUMMER  TEACH  ANYTHING?      303 

through  the  hills,  and  was  low  and  flat,  with 
a  great  hickory  towering  out  of  its  center. 

The  boys  caught  sight  of  the  old  tree's 
yellow  blaze  of  foliage  after  a  long,  sturdy 
pull,  and  Tom  said,  "If  all  the  nuts  aren't 
picked  up,  maybe  we'll  call  it  as  good  as  a 
race,  captain,' —  though  I  did  want  to  whip 
Forrest  and  his  men  before  leaving  Rainford 
for  good.  But  if  we  can  have  a  hickory- 
crack  !  —  well,  it  won't  be  the  worst  thing 
that  could  have  happened." 

"Oh,  we'll  have  a  good  time,  yet,"  said 
Gilbert,  cheerily. 

"  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  good,"  said 
Barry  White,  "and  we  shouldn't  have  seen 
the  Island  again,  but  for  this." 

And,  making  the  best  of  their  misfortune, 
they  carne  down,  at  last,  to  their  destination, 
ran  the  "  Triton's  "  prow  in  among  the  rank 
river-grass,  and  landed.  The  "  Mermaid  " 
was  a  little  way  behind. 


304    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

Tom's  first  care  was  to  see  whether  the 
hickory-nuts  were  abundant.  He  came 
back,  after  his  search,  to  where  Gilbert  and 
the  rest  w^:e  waiting  for  Forrest  and  his 
men,  saying,  "  It's  the  first  time  that  I  ever 
knew  hickory-nuts  to  be  laying  around  in 
this  style.  There's  a  bushel  out  yonder  if 
there's  one,  and  just  think !  —  only  a  little 
over  a  mile  from  Rainford  town.  What's 
going  to  happen,  Gilbert  Starr?  —  the  millen- 
nium, or  what  ?  " 

Forrest  and  Kenyon  and  the  others  landed, 
and  soon  the  island  was  noisy  enough  with 
this  gay  and  somewhat  boisterous  company 
which  had  taken  possession  of  it.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  tell  all  the  ways  in  which 
they  passed  hour  after  hour  away, —  short, 
pleasant,  blithesome  hours,  and  every  mo- 
ment of  them  given  up  to  full,  hearty  sport 
which,  perhaps,  was  a  little  madder  and 
wilder  than  usual,  in  view  of  the  fact  that 
it  was  their  last  frolic  together. 


DID   THE  SUMMER   TEACH   AXYTHIXG?      305 

They  were  great  grown  boys,  but  fun 
and  frolic  were  not  out  of  them  yet,  by 
any  means.  They  raced  and  jumped,  and 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  hickory  tree, —  in 
getting  down  from,  which,  Tom  Fowler  tore 
his  scarlet  jacket  half  off  him,  but  consoled 
himself  with  thinking  that  it  was  the  last 
time  he  should  wear  it  and  it'  was  no  matter, 
—  and  at  last  began  to  sober  down  into  the 
gravity  that  is  expected  of  young  gentle- 
men of  their  age.  Then  they  fell  to  crack- 
ing hickory-nuts.  They  were  scattered  here 
and  there  in  little  groups,  all  about  the 
island,  laughing  and  joking  over  their  nuts, 
and  talking  —  some  of  them  —  very  bois- 
terously. 

Gilbert  sat  near  the  water's  edge  —  alone 
at  first,  for  Ray  and  Kenyon  were  tog 
er  —  but  soon  Forrest  sauntered  that  way, 
and  after  taking  a  look  or  two  at  Gilbert's 
face  to  see  whether  he  was  in  a  mood  for 
company,  seated  himself  beside  him. 


306    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

"It's  been  a  jolly  afternoon,  hasn't  it?" 
said  he,  helping  himself  to  his  friend's  pile 
of  nuts  ;  "  better  than  any  racing  /  think, 
for  then  we  should  have  just  rowed  down 
and  back  and  gone  home,  and  that  would 
have  been  the  end  of  it.  I  think  it  was 
fortunate  that  Wayne  lost  his  oar,  though  I 
was  vexed  enough  at  the  time  to  've  thrown 
him  overboard.  Starr,"  he  exclaimed,  with 
sudden  earnestness,  "  how  on  earth  do  you 
hold  your  temper  when  you  feel  like  knock- 
ing a  fellow  down  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ?  "  said  Gilbert, 
smiling  a  little  as  he  looked  up. 

"  Well  —  I  was  thinking  I  felt  just  like 
serving  Wayne  so  when  he  lost  his  oar,  and 
I  had  to  bits  my  teeth  together  and  push 
the  feeling  down.  I  suppose  I'm  what  your 
funny  Tom  Fowler  would  call  a  '  hard-bitted' 
fellow  :  at  any  rate  it  doesn't  come  easy  for 
me  to  do  a  good  and  graceful  thing." 


DID   THE  SUMMER  TEACH  ANYTHING?      307 

"  Does  it  to  many  ?  "  said  Gilbert. 

"  I  don't  know,  —  I  thought  it  did  ;  to  you, 
for  instance,  Starr." 

"  Well,"    said    Gilbert,   after   a   space    in  t 
which  they  botl}.  were  busy,  cracking  nuts, 
«•  you've  made  a  mistake.     It's  nQt  easy  for 
one  to  do  a  right  thing,  —  it's  very  hard." 

"Yet — well,  I  don't  quite  like  to  say  it 
to  your  face,  but  it's  the  truth,  and  I've  been 
wanting  this  chance  a  great  while  — you're 
my  good  genius  !  " 

"What?"  said  Gilbert,  dropping  the  stone 
that  served  for  a  nut-cracker. 

"  There,  don't  forget  yourself,"  said  For- 
rest. "  I  only  said  the  truth.  You're  my 
good  genius  —  that's  the  only  name  I  can 
think  of,  and  tkat  doesn't  express  just  what  I 
mean  —  and  you've  been  to  me  for  a  whole 
year  —  well,  I  can't  tell  you  how  much ! 
You  see,"  Forrest  continued,  throwing  a 
handful  of  nut-shells  into  the  water  and 


308         THE   LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

watching  them  as  they  floated  away  on  the 
ripples,  "  I've  watched  you  a  long  time 
—  you  may  be  sure  you  weren't  allowed  to 
know  it !  —  and  I've  kept  you  under  my  eyes 
pretty  closely  all  summer,  and  the  good 
you've  dons  me  isn't  to  be  told  by  any  words 
that  I  possess." 

Gilbert  looked  puzzled. 

"  Aren't  you  just  a  little  mistaken,  For- 
rest ?  "  said  he. 

u  No  1  Having  never  been  in  my  place, 
you  can't  realize  what  I  mean,"  said  Forrest, 
earnestly ;  "  but  this  is  the  way  it  is.  When 
a  fellow  is  all  afloat,  and  knows  that  he  isn't 
what  he  should  be,  I  tell  you  he  looks  about 
for  something  ,to  settle  upon,  —  you  know 
that !  Well,  that  was  the  case.with  me  for  a 
long  time.  I  knew  I  wasn't  honorable,  that 
I  shirked  duty,  that  I  was  wrong  all  around, 
and  there  wasn't  a  fellow  in  school  that  felt 
as  I  did  about  it.  So  I  looked  over  here  to 


DID   THE   SUMMER   TEACH   ANYTHING?      309 

you.  Now,  I  don't  claim  but  what  I'd  ought 
to  fought  the  question  out  myself,  but 
that  isn't  the  way  with  a  fellow,  sometimes. 
He  wants  to  see  somebody  else  in  the  same 
fix  with  himself,  aud  see  how  they  come  out 
in  the  fight.  So  I  watched  you  —  and  wait- 
ed. You  got  on,  and  I  took  courage.  The 
Boat  Club  pulled  you  down  from  yo^-  rank 
for  being  honest  and  saying  your  prayer^ 
and  then  I  watched  you  with  both  of  my 
eyes.  That  was  the  crisis.  If  you  had 
yielded  and  gone  under,  it  would  all  have 
been  over  with  me,  too.  You  didn't  know 
how  much  depended  on  your  actions,  then, 
and  by  the  way,  isn't  that  always  the  way 
with  such  things  ?  " 

Gilbert  made  no  reply.  He  had  stopped 
cracking  nuts  and  was  looking  soberly  at 
the  seaward-gliding  tide. 

'•  Well,"  continued  Forrest,  "  you  didn't 
go  under,  and  that  saved  me  !  You  kept 


310        THE  LAST   SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

on  in  the  path  you  had  chosen,  and  I  began 
to  think  of  getting  into  the  same  way  my- 
self. Do  you  remember  what  I  whispered 
to  you  that  night,  when  you  had  gone  to 
bed  after  getting  into  the  ice  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  said,  '  Will  you  .help  me  ?  ' 
But  1  haven't  1 "  said  Gilbert,  regretfully. 

"lies,  you  have!"  said  Forrest, —  "more 

« 

0than   I   can   ever  thank   you   for.     You  Ve 
helped  me  every  day  of  your  life  ;  you  Ve 
been  my  good  genius.     Do  you  understand 
me  now,  Starr  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  Now,"  said  Forrest,  throwing  the  stone 
which  he  had  used  into  the  water,  "  we  may 
drift  apart  just  as  those  ripples  will  drift 
out  of  sight  and^be  lost  to  view,  but  I  didn't 
want  to  part  from  you  without  letting  you 
know  what  you,  unconsciously,  had  done  for 
me.  I  think  the  good  will  never  quite  leave 
me  whatever  evil  I  get  into  ;  at  any  rate," 
he  added,  dropping  his  handsome  face  a 


DID   THE  SUMMER   TEACH   ANYTHING?      311 


little,  "  I  pray,  in  ray  prayers,  that  God 
keep  me  ;  and  it  seems,  sometimes,  that  I 
never  can  be  grateful  enough  for  what  this 
summer  has  taught  me." 

"  Why,"  said  Gilbert,  meeting  Forrest's 
eyes  with  his  own  gray  ones,  "  that  is  my 
thought,  too  !  Do  you  know,  it  has  seemed 
to  me  that  this  summer,  from  its  very  begin- 
ning, through  the  fever  and  —  and  deaths, 
and  all  that  has  come  upon  us,  has,  every 
day  of  it,  been^,  lesson.  And  now  that 
we  're  just  throu§^\vith  it,  I  look  back  and 
wonder  at  all  it  has  taught  —  more  than  I 
can  tell  you,  Forrest." 

Afar  upon  the  level  river,  upon  the  low 
meadows,  upon  the  soft  gray  barrier  of  the 
hills  the  sun  shot  a  last  ray  of  pure  golden 
light  that  touched  them  wondrously;  and 
looking  thither  Forrest  was  silent,  though 
his  clear-cut,  manly  face  was  all  aglow  with 
the  deep  thoughts  that  stirred  his  soul. 

Then    Ray    and    Kenyon    sauntered    up, 


i 

312        THE  LAST  SUMMER   AT   RAINFORD. 

arm-in-arm,  Ray  saying,  "  What  felloAVs  you 
are  for  hickory-nuts  !  The  rest  of  us  were 
through  eating  long  ago,  and  Gilbert,  do 
you  know  its  sundown  and  growing  chilly  ?  " 

Gilbert  looked  up.  "  So  it  is  ! "  he  said  ; 
"  how  the  time  has  flown  !  " 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  said  Ray,  scanning 
Gilbert's  face ;  "  you  and  Forrest  haven't 
known,  for  the  last  half-hour,  whether  the 
river  was  flowing  up  or  down,  whether  you 
were  in  boats  or  on  tha^and." 

Then  Gilbert  called  1v  men ;  and  then 
came  the  bustle  of  getting  under  way  amid 
much  laughter  and  pleasant  talk  and  plash- 
ing of  oars. 

"  Shall  I  see  ypu  again  ?  "  Gilbert  said  to 
the  captain  of  the  "  Mermaid,"  as  the  two 
boats  were  on  the  point  of  departure. 

'•'  Oh,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Forrest,  as  his 
crew  pushed  off;  "  I'll  find  time  for  a  minute 
with  you  some  time  to-morrow.  Good  night, 
my  dear  fellow  !  " 


DID   THE   SUMMER   TEACH    ANYTHING?      313 

And  as  the  "  Mermaid  "iftnt  skimming  over 
the  purpling  water  homeward,  with  its  gener- 
ous, manly  captain  waving  back  his  farewell, 
Gilbert  looked  upon  him  for  the  last  time ; 
for  the  next  day  he  was  detained  and  did 
not  keep  his  promise,  and  before  two  more 
years  had  fled,  the  brave,  bright  life  was 
quenched  under  the  sunny  waters  of  a  far-off 
Indian  sea.  Gilbert  thought,  then,  of  what 
the  dear  fellow  had  said  about  the  summer's 
teaching. 

Xow,  it  was  so  late  when  the  "  Triton " 
and  its  crew  reached  home,  that  the  Rainford 
bells  were  ringing  for  evening  services,  and 
as  they  stopped  a  minute  on  the  wharf  to 
listen  to  their  tender  chiming,  Gilbert  said, 
"  Dear  old  bells  !  —  and  the  last  time  they 
are  to  ring  for  me.  0,  Ray,  what  an  after- 
noon this  has  been !  —  crowded  so  full  of 
sober  and  thoughtful  arid  yet  pleasant 
things ! " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

FAREWELLS. 

last  day  of  the  term  was  one  of  those 
matchless  October  days  that  crown  the 
ripe  year  with  a  gentle  splendor,  —  the 
gorgeous  hills  sliming  through  a  purple 
vestment,  the  river  throbbing  slowly  sea- 
ward, cloud  and  sky  and  earth  alike  full  of 
tender  magnificence. 

The  examination   exercises   were   neither 

^• 

lengthy  nor  very  brilliant.  They  passed 
off  well,  and  gave  satisfaction  to  the  not 
very  large  audience.  There  Avas  a  tacit 
understanding  between  parents  and  scholars 
that  nothing  sparkling  or  unusually  brilliant 

314 


FAREWELLS.  315 

was  to  be  expected;  the  great  gap  in  the 
summer  study  had  forbidden  this. 

The  graduating  class  acquitted  themselves 
well,  and  were  looked  upon  as  having  fitted 
themselves  thoroughly  and  soundly  for  the 
work  that  life  was  to  hold  for  them,  or  for 
entering  upon  the  university  course  which 
some  had  chosen.  Mr.  Winterhalter  gave 
them  some  very  earnest  words  at  the  close, 
and  some  grateful  ones,  too,  as  if  he  felt 

- 

that  the  favors  had  not  all  been  on  one  side. 
Then  the  crowd  went  away,  and  the  First 
Class's  school  days  were  over. 

There  was  a  quiet  reunion  that  evening 
in  Mr.  Winterhalter's  parlor,  where  the.  grad- 
uating class  gathered,  and  old  pupils  and 
young  met  together.  All  too  quickly  the 
evening  passed,  and  when  the  room  began  to 
get  a  little  thinned  and  there  was  a  constant 
flitting  away,  after  many  "  good  nights  "  and 
much  hand-shaking,  Gilbert,  who  was  talking 


316    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

with  Payne,  an  old  graduate  of  the  school, 
felt  some  one  pulling  at  his  sleeve.  Turning, 
he  saw  Tom  Fowler,  who  said,  "  1  know  it's 
horridly  impolite,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  've 
come  to  say  good  by." 

"  Why,"  said  Gilbert,  "  you  don't  go  to- 
night ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  but  I  go  at  five  to-morrow  morn- 
ing,—  before  daylight,  and  before  you'll  be 
up.  I  have  to  take  the  earliest  train  in 
order  to  get  home  the  same  day,  and  to- 
morrow is  Saturday,  you  know." 

Mr.  Payne,  having  been  a  school-boy  him- 
self, knew  what  would  be  most  agreeable  to 
the  two,  and  moved  away  —  to  Tom's  great 
delight  —  saying,  "  We  '11  finish  that  discus- 
sion by  and  by,  Starr."  », 

"  I    oughtn't    to  've    interrupted    you,    I 
know,"    said    Tom,    apologetically,    drawing  __ 
Gilbert   into   the    silence   and   shadow  of  a 
curtained  window  ;  "  but  what  is  a  fellow  to 


FAREWELLS.  317 

do  ?  and  how  can  he  stand  on  ceremony  the 
last  day  ?  I  Ve  got  a  better  right  to  you 
than  Payne." 

"  I  don't  dispute  that,"   said  Gilbert,  cor- 
i 

dially  ;  "  and  I  'm  sorry  that  you  aren't  going 
to  stay  till  to-morrow  night  —  till  the  rest  of 
us  go." 

"  So  am  I ;  but  it  can't  be.  Now  I  might 
as  well  out  with  what  I  Ve  got  to  say,  for 
this  evening  is  about  over.  "What  do  you 
think  I  did  last  night,  captain  ?  —  after  we 
got  back  from  the  race." 

"  I  :m  sure  I  can't  tell,"  said  Gilbert,  per- 
ceiving that  Tom  looked  very  earnest  about 
something. 

••'  Well,   I   did   that  which   I   didn't   want 

* 
to   go   away   without  telling   you   of.     The 

thought  of  doing  it  has  been  hanging  upon 
me  ever  since  I  got  well  of  the  fever,  but  it 
wasn't  till  last  night  that  I  got  courage 
enough  to  go  about  it.  I  marched  straight 


318    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

in  to  Mr.  Winterlialter  —  I  suppose  I  went 
through  with  it  like  a  pedler  getting  off  the 
list  of  his  goods,  for  the  kind  old  fellow 
looked  smilish  all  about  his  eyes  —  and  says 
I,  '  Mr.  Winterlialter,  I'm  a  cheat ! '  'I  know 
it,'  said  he.  That  rather  staggered  me,  but 
screwing  up  my  courage  I  managed  to  get 
out, '  And  I  'm  ashamed  and  sorry  and  cut- 
up  about  it,  and  I  'd  like  you  to  forgive  me 
if  it  is  the  last  minute.  I*  feel  dreadful 
small,  sir.'  I  can  tell  you  I  did,  too  !  The 
good  old  fellow  was  silent  a  minute,  think- 
ing, I  suppose,  and  then  he  said,  in  these 
very  words  that  fairly  upset  me  — '  Tom,  I 
know  all  about  the  deception  that  won  the 
flag  last  summer  ;  but  Gilbert  Starr  took  all 
the  blame  for  that  act  a  yfear  ago.  So  I 
have  nothing  to  say  about  the  matter.'  If 
he  had  got  up  and  knocked  me  down  I 
shouldn't  have  minded  it  half  so  much  as 
those  words.  I  stood  there  as  dumb  as  that 


FAREWELLS.  319 

mummy  in  our  museum,  and  he  must  have 
took  pity  upon  me,  for  said  he,  taking  my 
hand,  '  Tom,  you  did  right  to  coine*  to  me 
about  this.  I  think  I  understand  you,  and 
I  'm  sure  I  forgive  you ;  go  and  talk  with 
Gilbert  about  it.'  Then  he  looked  right 
through  me  with  his  keen  eyes  and  sent  me 
off ;  and  this  is  the  first  chance  I  Ve  got  at 
you." 

Tom  stopped,  and  looked  steadfastly  at 
Gilbert.  The  captain  had  parted  the  cur- 
tain and  was  looking  out  into  the  starry, 
silent  night,  and  Tom  fancied  —  nay,  was 
quite  certain  —  that  his  chin  trembled  and 
his  mouth  quivered  a  little,  though  why 
they  should  do  so  was  beyond  Tom's  com- 
prehension. 

"  Say,"  said  he,  energetically,  "  don't  look 
away  from  me  in  that  style.  What  have  I 
said  ?  What  are  you  blue  about  ?  " 

"  Blue  !  "  said  Gilbert,  turning  back  to  his 


320    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

friend.  "  I  'in  happy  !  —  more  than  I  can 
tell." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Ray,  who  came  up  in  time 
to  hear  the  last  of  Gilbert's  exclamation. 

"  Pshaw !  go  away,  Hunter,"  cried  Tom. 
"  You  're  to  have  him  all  to  yourself  the  rest 
of  the  month,  besides  going  through  college 
with  him,  and  now  I  want  the  captain  to 
myself  a  minute  longer." 

Ray  went  away. 

"  Now,"  said  Tom,  "  keep'  your  patience 
just  a  minute  longer  and  I'm  done.  If  a 

n 

fellow  should  treat  you  well  all  the  time  that 
you  were  treating  him  shamefully  —  if  he 
should  take  care  of  you  through  a  deathly 
fever  and  take  his  pay  in  a  long  sickness, 
with  compound  interest,  too,  and  then  if  he 
should  just  smother  you  entirely  by  getting 
well  and  treating  you  as  if  you  were  his 
brother,  and  fairly  annihilate  you  with  the 
lesson  he  teaches,  presses  home  and  crowds 


FAKEWELLS.  321 

down  without  any  letting  up,  how  would 
you  feel  toward  this  fellow  ?  " 

"  Well/'  said  Gilbert,  laughing,  "  I'm  afraid 
I  should  feel  as  if  he  had  rather  over- 
burdened me." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't !  —  not  if  all  this  canie 
little  by  little,  as  it  came  to  me.  You  'd 

• 

bless  the  day  that  ever  you  knew  this 
fellow !  — just  as  I  do,"  said  Tom,  with  a 
slight  tremor  in  his  voice. 

They  were  silent  a  few  minutes,  the  gay 
and  merry  chatter  of  the  company  floating 
out  to  them.  Then  Tom  said,  with  an  effort, 
"I  must  go, — I  haven't  packed  yet.  If  ever 
I  can  make  up  my  mind  to  a  college,  I  —  1  '11 
come  where  you  are.  And  now  —  how  can 
I  say  it  ?  —  Good  by,  captain." 

"  Good  by,  Tom." 

Then  Tom  drew  his  hand  from  Gilbert's 
and  walked  straight  to  the  parlor-door,  look- 
ing neither  to  the  right  nor  left. 


322    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAIXFOBD. 

Then  Ray,  who  had  been  hovering  near, 
came  up  and  said,  "  I  'm  glad  I  haven't  got 
to  go  through  what  poor  Tom  did  just  now. 
Am  I  not  a  lucky  fellow?  But  you're  not 
to  stay  here  any  longer,  for  Mr.  Payne  is 
waiting  for  you.  Come  along !  " 

Gilbert  followed  his  friend  and  spent  the 

• 

remainder  of  the  evening  in  the  busiest  of 
chat ;  and  when  he  awoke  the  next  morning, 
Tom  was  gone.  But  on  the  bed,  scrawled 
over  a  great  piece  of  paper,  was  this : 

"  Four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Good  by,  once  more,  Cap,  and  don't  forget 

TOM  FOWLER." 

Gilbert  and  Ray,  as  well  asNnost  of  the 
class,  were  busy  enough  all  the  forenoon  in 
picking  up  books  and  papers  and  packing 
their  trunks.  After  dinner,  when  the  trunks 
and  boxes  had  been  got  off  to  the  depot, 


FAREWELLS.  323 

they  took  a  hurried  ramble  over  all  the 
pleasant  haunts  that  seven  happy  years  had 
made  dear,  and  returned  to  be  astonished  at 
finding  that  it  was  actually  three  o'clock. 

"Ah,"  said  Gilbert,  "only  two  more  hours! 
We  must  go  to  th*e  study  next,  II 

They  found  Mrs.  Winterhalter  there,  and 
alone.  Ray  had  something  to  say  to  the 
good  lady,  and  Gilbert  had  time  to  look 
around  at  the  familiar  book-cases,  the  great 
easy-chairs,  the  little  work-table  and  the 
pictures  on  the  wall  —  each  and  all  of  them 
associated  with  so  many  different  events  in 
his  life  —  and,  sitting  here,  he  wondered  if 
there  was  another  spot  in  the  wide  earth 
that  could  ever  seem  so  dear  and  home-like. 

In  the  midst  of  his  reverie,  Ray  stepped 
out,  thinking,  "  I'll  just  give  good  Mrs. 
Wiuterhalter  a  chance  to  say  what  she  likes 
to  Gil,  while  I  get  our  valise  and  the  over- 
coats ready.  He'll  stay  till  the  last  minute 
I'U  warrant." 


324        THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT   RAINFORD. 

And  presently  Gilbert  was  astonished  to 
find  his  friend  gone  and  Mrs.  Winterhalter 
bending  over  her  work  with  a  grave  face. 

"  Gilbert/'  said  she,  in  the  gentle  tone 
that  was  so  pleasant  to  his  ears,  and  just 
as  if  she  had  divined  his  thoughts,  ''  doesn't 
this  seem  like  home  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  you  don't  know  —  I  can't  tell  you 
how  much  like  home,  Mrs.  Winterhalter,"  he 
said ;  "  and  it  w  home,  —  I've  been  here  so 
long." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  musingly,  "  longer,  much 
longer  than  any  of  the  others.  You  were 
a  little  boy  when  you  came  here.  That  is 
the  way  with  Mr.  Winterhalter  and  I  —  our 
boys  grow  up  to  men,  and  when  they  have 
got  to  be  like  our  own,  we  have  to  say 
farewell  and  let  them  go.  Some  of  them 
come  back  once  in  a  great  while,  but  most 
of  them  —  ah,  it's  like  saying  good  by  for- 
ever when  they  go." 


FAREWELLS.  325 

"  But  it  will  not  be  so  with  me,"  said  Gil- 
bert, quickly  and  eagerly.  "  I  shall  come 
again  often  — •  if  you  '11  let  me.  It's  home  !  " 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  Mrs. 
"White rhalter.  "  We  shall  look  for  you  at 
your  vacation,  we  shall  be  proud  of  your 
successes,  we  shall  be  glad  and  happy  to 
find  that  you  are  our  own  Gilbert  Starr  still, 
and  that  your  feet  keep  in  the  path  which 
you  have  chosen  since  coming  to  live  with 
us.  Seven  years  !  why,  every  one  of  them 
has  been  making  you  our  boy."  The  good 
lady  laid  down  her  work. 

Gilbert  wanted  to  add,  "  And  every  one 
of  them  has  been  making  you  like  a  mother 
to  me,"  but  the  words  did  not  leave  his 
tongue ;  though  they  might  have  done  if 
Mr.  Winte rhalter  had  not  entered  just  then. 

"  Ah,  Gilbert,"  said  he,  warmly,  putting 
out  both  his  hands,  "  how  are  we  going  to 
part  with  you  ?  School  will  not  be  school, 


326    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  EAINFORD. 

now  ;  wo  shall  miss  you  in  everything.  But 
though  poor  Mrs.  Winterhalter  and  I  have 
to  lose  our  boys  once  in  so  often,  this  seems 
another  matter.  You  are  our  own ;  we 
watched  you,  arid  were  glad  when  you  were 
glad,  and  happy  when  you  were  happy,  and 
now  — "  Here  Mr.  Winterhalter  stopped ; 
why,  it  was  not  evident,  unless  he  had  sud- 
denly lost  his  voice.  But  he  filled  up  the 
blank  by  shaking  both  of  Gilbert's  hands 
very  heartily ;  and  here  Ray  came  tapping 
at  the  study-door  and  calling,  "  Gilbert !  " 

Mrs.  Wiuterhalter  looked  up  at  the  clock, 
and  trying  to  keep  her  face  bright  and 
cheery,  said,  "  Well,  it  will  not  be  so  hard 
if  we  know  we  can  have  you  back  again  ; 
and  when  may  I  expect  to  hear  you/  step 
in  the  hall,  and  your  tap  at  the  door,  and  you 
saying,  '  Mrs.  Winterhalter  ! ' ; 

The  good  lady's  voice  got  tremulous  at 
the  last,  and  the  husband  was  fain  to  say, 
"  Let  it  be  soon,  Gilbert." 


FAREWELLS.  327 

"  It  shall  be  ! "  said  Gilbert,  getting  up 
just  as  another  impatient  "  Gilbert !  "  came 
from  without  the  door.  "  I  '11  come  back 
to  you  —  I  shall  want  to  come.  How  can  I 
forget  ?  " 

His  two  friends  foUowed  him  to  the  door. 
"  God  bless  you  !  "  said  Mrs.  Winterhalter, 
Living  her  soft  hand  upon  his  head,  "  and 
may  He  keep  our  boy."  And  with  her 
words  thrilling  him,  Gilbert  bent  and  kissed 
her  hand,  and  passed  out  of  the  dear  portal 
—  along  the  piazza,  and  down  the  steps, 
with  eyes  that  could  see  nothing  clearly  for 
the  tears  that  were  in  them.  But  at  the 
gate  he  stopped  to  look  back. 

"  Twenty  minutes  past  five,"  said  Ray, 
leaning  against  a  tree-trunk  and  poking  at 
his  watch ;  "  just  ten  minutes  left  in  which 
to  get  to  the  depot."  But  Gilbert  did  not 
heed. 

The  westering  sun  lit  up  the  great,  many- 


328    THE  LAST  SUMMER  AT  RAINFORD. 

angled  building,  and  touched  the  lawn-side 
and  the  garden  goldenly,  and  never  were 
they  fairer  in  the  eyes  of  the  gazer  at  the 
gate.  The  blessed  picture,  in  those  few 
seconds,  painted  itself  upon  his  heart ;  and 
the  warm  breath  of  wind,  the  rustle  of  the 
grass,  the  faint  sigh  of  the  river  far  below, 
all  seemed  to  whisper  of  other  days,  and  a 
little  figure,  and  yet — -not  at  all  of  sorrow  or 
sadness. 

<l  Gilbert ! "  said  Hay,  in  a  desperate  voice. 

And  then  he  turned  away. 


IV  i 


A     000  605  474     6 


